A Little Deadly: Aftermath
by JoleneB
Summary: Jack’s attempts to help a young prodigy are interrupted by a deadly accident off world.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Little Deadly: Aftermath

Author: JoleneB

Beta: Dinkydow and brandifier

Date of Completion: WIP

Category: action/adventure, whomp

Warnings: Language, extreme emotional distress, injury, sappiness

Pairing: none, well... maybe a hint, but otherwise, just lots of friends

Season: Hmmm… After Two, but before Seven. Probably Five.

Spoilers: movie, The Enemy Within, A Matter of Time, Foothold, Upgrades, Proving Ground, A Little Deadly

Sequel: to 'A Little Deadly'

Rating: Teens to Adults

Summary: Jack's attempts to help a young prodigy are interrupted by a deadly accident off world.

Hosting: Jackfic dot com

Disclaimer: I do profess to my profound regret that I have no rights to Stargate SG-1 (except to enjoy). The concept and characters belong to SciFi Channel, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions… ad infinitum.

Authors Notes: This is number three, my lucky number. My thanks to Biltong for seeing something in number one and insisting on number two. Thanks to the Yahoo! Jackfic Group for putting up with me. Thanks to Dinkydow and Cjay for trusting me with their babies which taught more about my own writing. Thanks to Flatkatsi for her gentle whining for more fic. Wow, my fic! And thanks to everyone who sent feedback. And, thank you Arnise and crew for creating the greatest website on the planet.

Feedback: Whining is welcome. Correction of facts and fantasy also welcome. I really don't know it all. Please, please tell me your likes and dislikes. Striving to better serve the reading public.

**A Little Deadly: Aftermath**

**By JoleneB**

**CHAPTER ONE **

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

"Sir…"

Hammond overrides my diatribe as I snap my mouth shut.

"Colonel, all I can do is try," his voice expresses his exasperation at me, but I'm relieved that I haven't totally blown it with him.

"That's all I'm asking here, Sir."

My relief must have shown, his face softens as he changes the subject just a tad.

"Jack…"

'Great my first name, he's gonna ask isn't he.'

"…Are you sure that you're not… well, doing this out of guilt."

'Good question. Am I? Maybe, but then again the numbers look _real_ good.'

"At first, Sir, but after working at it for a while I realized that it's doable, very doable. You know as well as I do that we've lost too many good people to injury. If you're not 100 battle fit you're out, that's the military's way, and it needs to change, at least in regards to the SGC. I want to retain those who can't meet those standards but aren't so disabled that they need help to get around. We need personnel. We're always shorthanded off world, and with this program, we can free up people by putting in our proven but battle damaged group. Please Sir, it's not just Lt. Van Sickle I'm talking about here, it's all the others that have been, or will be, let go because of physical injury. They're not brain dead and its what's in their heads we need, Sir."

"You have thought this through haven't you?"

General Hammond studies me thoughtfully as he leans back into his chair.

"And you're thinking about the Mirror Site too?"

'Damn, he's good, I hadn't even mentioned that yet.'

"Damn right, Sir!" I grinned at him unashamedly. "We now have the perfect site, because it's unknown to the Goa'uld, AND the Tok'ra, and isn't listed on the Abydos Cartouche or the Ancients' list. Daniel's prelim indicated no habitation in centuries, but the cut tunnels appear sound and look to be easily converted. Right now you and SG-1 are the only ones who know about this world, it's perfect." Knowing how important this step is I can hardly breath, excited that I may be able to insure the security of Earth and provide a better future for a certain someone.

"Okay, I'll take it on up the line. Leave me a copy of your stats, but only on the retention of injured personnel. Once I have them hooked on that, _and_ it's working smoothly. I'll put forward the Mirror Site. Meanwhile I want you and SG-1 to recruit a few of your 'battle damaged' to help you do a detailed survey and map out a conversion plan of this 'perfect planet.' This can be your test case, it will certainly come in handy when I try to talk the Chiefs of Staff into it."

He smiles at me and I grin like a fool back at him, he's the best CO I've ever had and one of the best friends too. I stand and give him my sincerest parade ground salute; George goes a little red in the face at that.

"Colonel, get the hell out of my office, dismissed." He makes flustered shooing motions at me and I happily leave.

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

"Colonel, isn't he a little inexperienced for what you have in mind?"

To say that I wasn't surprised to see Colonel O'Neill would be a lie, true he had been here quite a bit when the topic of conversation was a certain patient here. However, if _he_ is the patient he usually has to be pulled in kicking and screaming if he's conscious at all. The only time he willingly comes near me, Major Dr Janet Fraiser, CMO of the SGC, is to slurp up free dinners in my home and visit my daughter, Cassandra. Come to think of it, I wouldn't change _that_ for the world.

This is the first that I've heard about changing the fitness standards to retain personnel for non-combat duty, to help keep the knowledge and experience here, where it's needed. Lt. Van Sickle was injured on his first off world mission, his experience is pretty nil, but the Colonel's guilt has been evident in regards to this young man.

'Is his judgment impaired?'

"Uh, yeah, you have me there. But Janet…"

'Oh, oh, it's the first name thing, he's as bad as the General, and he's going to make this personal.'

"For crying out loud! He's talented. Have you seen his test scores? He's top notch, we'll need command talent. Oy! I cringe when I think what he could have become if he hadn't been injured. This is chancy, I know that, but I think he's worth it. What do you say, can he physically take it?"

'Darn!'

He is so good at begging I really hate it when he does it, thankfully that's not often. With those sometimes luminous dark amber eyes just pleadingly boring into me, it's times like this that I understand why he drives Sam crazy. I can understand his agony over the Lieutenant, but he doesn't fit the criteria as he described it to me

"Sir, what I say won't change the guide lines you set up for this project, he has no experience."

He cares too much sometimes and I really hate to dash his hopes, always trying to do the impossible, although he seems to be quite good at achieving it

"Yet."

Saying that he smirks boldly at me. Just what is he up to? No good, I bet! But then, that's when he's at his very best, isn't it.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I have to ask.

"Yet, Sir?"

'Darn, here I am encouraging him.'

"Hammond's given me the go ahead to recruit a few of the invalided-out for a project I'm doing off world. I get the kid into that -- instant experience."

He dramatically spreads his arms wide with a flourish, grinning, his eyes sparkling at his own cleverness. I can't help but smile at him; he hardly ever gets this expressive about anything.

This is very close to his heart, how can I refuse him?

Darn it, I can't and live with myself, besides Lt. Van Sickle should be able to handle it physically. So why not?

"Sir, I don't know, he's only just gotten out of the infirmary less than two weeks ago. His one eye has perfect sight, thanks to getting Jacob to him, and his hand has miraculously shown some improvement and the last two fingers of this right hand have developed some muscle control. Of course, the hand may never improve beyond that, but there's hope."

Watching his expression as I speak, I can see he is intently listening, his face unreadable as he focuses on my words. I have no idea what he is thinking. Well that's normal for him. I resume…

"Sir, I don't see any real problem with him going off world if you don't tax him physically, he'll tire easily. No long hikes even without 55-pound packs. He's still recovering."

Finishing, I wait for his response. He still has that poker face in place. I wait; he must be reviewing the options. I detect a slight movement at the corner of his mouth.

'Ah, what did I say? Here it comes.'

A thoughtful look builds across his lean face and he begins to speak.

"He'll be doing a lot of walking, the terrain is a lot like the hallways of the SGC, minus the elevators. Kinda a gofer job. Can he do that?"

That's the Colonel; he'll put no one at risk if he can help it.

He is very serious and earnest with this question; he wants my honest opinion.

"Not at the moment, but in a couple of weeks he probably will be able to handle that level of physical exertion easily. I know that's not the answer you'd like to hear, Sir, but that's the way it is."

He appears to be tossing options around in that head of his again.

"Sir, I have to ask this… but, are you doing this out of guilt?"

Holding my breath I wait for the explosion, it never comes, stunning me.

"Some. All I can see is what might have been, but I'm currently in a position to offer him a chance to make it after all. I think that he can be a real asset to the SGC, albeit in a rear area position. I'm not going to enable him Janet, but damn it. He deserves this chance. He's got too much potential to toss out cold like this. Would it help if I wait a couple of weeks? Will that do? I want to make this the best chance possible for the kid."

He is sincere about the guilt and way too smart to give in to his feelings to write this boy's ticket for him; and much too honorable to even think it.

"Yes, that would be fine Sir. In fact if you could get him back here I could get him started on a fitness regimen to bring him in line with the physical requirements you outlined."

His relief is actually visible for a split second, before he controls his reactions. It's good to see him striving for this young man and if it will help him ease his conscience too, all the better.

"Thanks, Janet. I'm sure Eric will thank you too, if he survives your 'fitness regimen.' "

He chuckles, tossing me a cocky salute, and swaggers out of my infirmary.

He's happy as a clam. Who'd have thought it?

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Carter's lab is my current destination. Getting the ball rolling on this is vitally important; the SGC is too vulnerable, irreplaceable. We need backup, a bolthole. A place that only we know about. The Alpha Site is known by some of our allies and probably our enemies too. This sounds _so_ 'NID,' but we need secrecy and PBX 123 looks to fit the bill.

Hastily I nearly skid through the door; I stop and check out the room. Every time I come in here she's changed it, I could be back in only five minutes and it will have changed. Never knowing what I can touch is nerve racking, I could blow something sky high, not that that has even happened. But, you've heard about first times. At least she's here, who am I'm kidding? She's always here, usually. I shake my head and step further into the room.

"Carter?"

'Damn, that looks so… precision-like.'

She has this little bobble pushed right up under a light-magnifier and her eye is practically touching her side of it. If I startle her, I could put her eye out. Sooo not going there!

Hugging my arms close to my body, I try to still my legs, sweeping my eyes around the press of equipment to check for clearances. Don't want to knock over anything ya know.

"Sir?"

She didn't even move. Did she actually speak? She must have, unless I'm hearing things. I watch as she manipulates the little bobble thingy. I open my mouth.

"Uh, do you have a few minutes?"

Hesitant, I see she's still not looking up. Her world is that little bobble.

"Sure, Sir, just a second."

'Great, that means in about five hours, she'll come up for air and remember I'm here.'

Rolling my eyes impatiently, I drop my gaze to study the floor; I concentrate on keeping my feet from wandering.

"Sir?"

'Whoa! Here I am staring at the floor like it was my navel, that's not fair, that must have been… well, a second.'

"Yes, I'm… Uh…"

Needing a distraction, I scratch at my ear. Damn, she's flustered me now.

'I'm a colonel damn it!' Stiffening my back, I start to speak up like one.

"You remember me talking about the Mirror Site?"

"Sir, you didn't," she practically squeaks out.

'Didn't? Didn't what?'

What the hell did I touch?

My eyes dart covertly around me checking for smoke. I know for certain that my heated face shows my confusion, but I ask anyway.

"Didn't what?" I dumbly ask her.

All of my attention has narrowed to her; all I can see or hear is Sam. I desperately shake myself loose of my fascination. Thank God, this only happens in low-threat situations like this. Well, except for that one time, but we were about to die. At other times, like this, when safe and secure my body takes over, pushing my brain into the dark, reacting to her.

'Whoa, rein in those unused hormones.'

"You got permission to start the Mirror Site. That 'didn't,' Sir."

'Oh, that 'didn't.' '

"Uh, no, not yet. But I do have Hammond's blessings for a pilot project using invalided personnel to do a comprehensive survey of our chosen planet." I smile timidly, but proudly, at her as I await her reaction.

Not expecting the squeal, I damn near 'ducked and covered.' Seeing my reaction, she gives me a sheepish grin before speaking.

"Sorry, Sir. That's great, when do we start?"

Cupping my hand behind my ear, I mouth 'Eah.' That squeal almost deafened me. She nearly repeated what she said before she figured out that I was pulling her leg. She gave me a lopsided smile and kinda dropped her nose at me. Can't sue a guy for trying.

"Two weeks. Do you have anyone to suggest to be on the survey team?" Nearly vibrating with enthusiasm, I eagerly anticipate her reply.

"Not off hand, but I'll check around, I'm sure that I can find a few bodies for you."

She gives me a little apologetic look quickly replaced with an encouraging smile; she's sugaring her negative with a little future hope, just for me.

Sigh, that's my Major. 'Stop that!'

Mindful of the gadgets, I start to slide towards the door; I still have people to see.

"Thanks Carter, I'll keep in touch, bye."

XXX

Stopping off at Daniel's office is more of a reminder visit; I had already recruited him to my cause, as I used him to sound out the whole idea before seeing Hammond.

Next, I talked to Teal'c, I knew he would be less likely to have suggestions for personnel, but he always comes up with some insightful views into every problem.

My office is where I end up with an armload of personnel files sent over by Fraiser, her contribution to the groundwork being laid for my little project. And, of course, being in my office means that I find a few things that need doing.

You never know who various department heads might know, they could provide that perfect person to fit into this project, I start e-mailing inquires with this hope in mind. One thing leads to another and a couple of hours pass while I tend to the business of running the SGC. If I didn't have a lot of say on who gets into the SGC and what they do I would never leave this office and neither would the man who backs me on my choice of personnel assignments, Hammond.

He and I both like going home. Well, at least for few hours every night. I get an added bonus, time to run a team off world.

Only Hammond and I know about my efficient organization of the base and I want to keep it that way. Someone might find out just how well I can run this place and that would put paid to my rep as a dumb, but tough as nails kinda guy. My carefully cultivated rep helps deter notions of promotion. I love that it says 'colonel' on my uniform. Yep!

So, I'm delayed just long enough by clerical circumstance I hit the rush hour traffic in Colorado Springs. Getting from the Mountain to the Academy to recruit the kid will take time. I swear every car in the state is funneled into these two main north-south routes at the base of the Front Range. It's times like this that I'm glad I drive a very large and intimidating truck. The A/C comes in handy too. Ya think!

Stopping at the first security point, I want to find out where Lt. Van Sickle is; I'm requested to pull out of line while they locate him, which they do very quickly. Knowing who I am, the kids at the gate get me back on the road promptly and one even rides with me to insure that I get there, with one of his buddies following behind in a security jeep. This may sound like overkill, but this is a training facility, so overkill is SOP around the Academy, everyone gets to participate.

Once securely parked outside the dormitory where Van Sickle is billeted, I lose my escort. At the dorm's entrance, I'm challenged. Which isn't really surprising, considering that I'm not wearing a uniform or BDU's, just civvies. Once they see my ID, they escort me to the correct door. My second escort disappears around the corner as I knock. The door opens and I'm greeted by a young man with a head of bright red hair and a heavily freckled face.

"Looking for someone?"

Freckles is dressed in Air Force Blues. Although his nameplate says Roy, he doesn't offer his name as he looks me up and down disdainfully. Although I'm out of uniform, I should radiate flyer, but his reaction screams 'unwanted civilian and/or official snoop.' My second surprise is that I'm getting 'flyer' vibes from him. He's a fellow aviator.

"Yes, Lt. Van Sickle, is he here?" Jingling my keys I answer him and wave an arm towards the door he's holding partially closed.

"Sure, come on in. I'll pry him out of the bathroom for you."

He seems to have decided that I'm not here to rob him, he steps back to let me in and waves me to the chair at the nearest of the two desk/bed combos that are dorm standard. There's a door across the room, must be the bathroom. Freckles proves my premise by pressing his body to the door whispering into the crack between door and jamb. Letting the books around the room hold my attention, I ignore what he is doing and before I know it, he is suddenly standing expectantly before me again.

"He'll be right out."

The kid is polite, but he gives off a 'don't mess with me' attitude.

He offers no other information verbally, but his body language says his doesn't trust me being here and he's letting me know that he'll be right here to keep an eye on me.

Tough.

Freckles confuses me. Not his attitude, that's is who he is. But, the mistrust is something else, like he's had frequent run-ins with unsavory people lately, making him assume the worst right away of any strangers. Too many strangers.

The bathroom door opens, a young man in dark blue slacks, black shoes, a white T-shirt and a white towel being vigorously rubbed across his obscured head emerges. The towel drops to reveal, a fairly normal face, the right side looks a little red and puffy. It's the right eye that really weirds me out, probably because its green is darker than the other. In addition, the hair on that side is just fuzz contrasting sharply with his otherwise longish dark hair.

My eyes follow the dropping trowel then switches to the empty hand. Two fingers, bound by tape are all I can see there and knowing there are no others I feel an uneasiness crawl over me.

That glass eye is a little spooky; this is the first time I've seen it.

He looks better, Jacob had given him another treatment about ten days after saving his right eye, and I just hadn't seen the kid since he left the SGC. I kept touch through others.

"Colonel O'Neill!"

My name seemed shocked out of Lt. Eric Van Sickle's mouth just a little too loudly; the effect on Lt. Roy is more profound, causing him to come to full standing attention from a slouched sit, a fleeting relieved look crosses his face.

Now I know what Roy's problem is. He's been guarding Eric. Just what kind of visitors has the kid been subjected to, to create this kind of behavior in his roommate?

"At ease, Lt. Roy, Lt. Van Sickle."

I don't rise and I don't salute back. For crying out loud, I'm in civvies, no need to stand on protocol.

"This is an informal visit. Lt. Roy, can you find something elsewhere to occupy you for awhile?"

"Yes Sir, Colonel Sir."

He still snaps to attention, salutes smartly and leaves… slowly, almost warningly, from the room. He's still suspicious.

Pausing until the door closes, I turn to study Van Sickle, to judge his state of mind; he gives me no clues. This puzzles me, we seemed to have connected somewhat back when I last visited him in the infirmary, and he had seemed ready to take life on and win. The kid's plans are a mystery to me, all I know is the he is due to be discharged from the Air Force in 45 days for disability, and that he has remained in all his courses, keeping up his grades, but is forbidden physical training.

"Sit down Lieutenant. I have something I want to discuss with you."

"Certainly Sir."

He sits on the other chair, clear across the room; he makes no attempt to drag it closer. So, I stand and drag mine to him. This seems to surprise him and… makes him uncomfortable?

"Been doing okay? Doc Fraiser says that you're exceeding expectations."

Striving for openness I smile and put on my friendly face.

"She sees what she wants, others have opened my eyes to reality."

That friendly face of mine is difficult to keep after that deadpan delivery in a hostilely tinted voice. His words confuse me; I need a little clarification.

"Reality? And that would be?" I ask.

"That I'll never amount to anything now, I'm damaged goods."

Now this is where I lose the smile and probably the rest of that friendly little mask to be replaced with my command face. My next words are without thought, a mistake I should not have made.

"Who the hell told you that?" I bark out.

"Does it matter to you, to anyone? It's true." He bites out in a defiant accusing tone. Catching a flash of anger in his eye, I notice the contrasting dull glassy glint of the other. I feel a chill run along my spine.

"What happened to your, 'I'll survive' attitude that you so proudly proclaimed to me only a few weeks ago?"

'And why the implied accusation in your voice?'

Has someone has been filling his head with nonsense? Shit, I hope so.

"Oh, I'll survive, a bare existence with no real future, but I'll survive. Just long enough to really hate myself."

His words are flippantly, firmly and flatly spoken, and the kid's face hardens as he tells the truth as he now believes it. That shocks me.

'He believes it. Crap.'

Shaking off my shock, I put metal in my voice as I continue.

"Kid, I came here to offer you a future, granted it's not as grand as the one stolen from you, but just as important, in defense…"

"No, you came to assuage your guilt…" He rose during his angry delivery, shouting me down. I matched his actions, all of them.

"Stop… Right… There… Sit, that's an order."

'Now I'm mad and I need to leave because I'm no good to him pissed.'

Attempting to strangle my anger, it is beyond me that my voice doesn't quiver with its volcanic force.

"I don't pretend to know what's changed your attitude, but I do know that the Air Force still 'owns' you for another 45 days, and I order you to report to Major Fraiser, at the SGC, tomorrow at 0900 sharp. If you are not there, I will personally come for you with a couple of SF's to drag you there. Once there you will do you utmost to comply with her 'suggestions.' Have I made myself clear airman?"

My persistent edging towards the door is killing the force of my words, but that is the least of my concerns; I have only the barest control of myself. I don't know what's the matter with me; I shouldn't be reacting like this.

It's not... me.

"Yes Sir, Colonel Sir."

XXX

The drive back to the Mountain doesn't happen. I drive home instead. Going home takes me back the same way I came, only a little further south of the Mountain. Driving aggressively, I power the big truck through the late afternoon rush traffic and I'm probably scaring the hell out of everyone in my path. Although, I'm a little dangerous right now, I'll crash the truck before I'll touch any of them; this is not their fault. It's a wonder I'm not getting pulled over, but I'm pissed. The kid I'd grown to like so much was not the one that I had just talked to. His attitude did seem familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I did know that it was not really him. He was projecting, only acting the way someone else expects him to act.

'Projecting.'

A psyche term, and believe me when I say I know a lot of them. It was my misfortune that I learned their meanings at the hands of a few uncaring professionals back after my first couple of times having the shit kicked out of me early in my career in Special Operations. They were a brutal bunch, only interested in what they could learn from my shattered psyche and patching me together just long enough to do the next assignment.

Sometimes I marvel that I ever survived them. Or, did I?

I've got to turn this kid around, and shock treatment is the answer.

O'Neill Shock Treatment.

Fraiser is not going to want to go along with me on this, I'll have to be very careful to keep her and kid in the dark until it's too late for either of them to back out.

Go to: Chapter Two


	2. Chapter 2

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER TWO **

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

'Damn, why is my life so shitty? One stupid mistake and it fell apart.'

I'm staring at the door Colonel O'Neill had just backed through.

'Backed through.'

Like I was a threat to him... and maybe, I was.

My behavior was inexcusable; he was here to help. Lately, I've had a lot of help, not all of it good and that small amount of good help I did get I liked to think came from him. From the man I'd just insulted, a man I've learned to idolize.

'Shit!'

I drop my head into my hands and clench the fingers of my good hand brutally into my hair, imagining the pain I could cause by ripping it out by the roots.

And, damn! Thad acted like Colonel O'Neill was here to eat me or something. He's gotten just a little too protective; especially for someone I can't even tell what really happened to me. Although he's flying those attack choppers right now, he's on the Astronaut Track. He wants to go into space; he would flip to know that I'm already been to two worlds already.

Even though I've only known Thad for a couple of weeks, I feel like I've known him my entire life. Just thinking about him calms me.

Talking about myself to anyone, 'unless ordered to,' is something I don't do, but I told Thad everything. At least everything that wasn't classified, and talking with him helped me a lot. Unlike the 'ordered to' confession that left me feeling dirty and defeated. That feeling is now a part of me and I've turned that crushing anger of failure back onto Colonel O'Neill without a second thought.

At first I was afraid of him, everyone was telling us to watch out for 'The Colonel.' That he would eat us alive, that no one was good enough for him and that it was impossible to be 'sufficient' let alone be 'good' in the man's eyes. For a man with such impossibly high standards, he was so different with us on that first world. He saved our butts then and patiently explained everything, joking with us, calling us 'kids,' like he was our 'father.' He felt like a father too, something that I'm not too experienced with, though I do remember it.

And I miss it.

'Damn it, Dad!'

Well, it felt good to feel that again with this soldier, this 'Colonel' that was impossible to please. But Sgt. Holliran explained that he had been pleased with us, that we just didn't speak his language. The Colonel is low-key, but he means every word he says. Holliran told us to pay attention when _he_ speaks and I did after that. And, after my accident, I listened with a new understanding, he cared, he really cared. About me, not just about the soldier, but me.

Oh, yeah, he was upset that he'd lost a good airman. Lost someone he could see fitting into the future of the SGC, someone who could help him. However, he was also upset that he'd been the catalyst to the incident. He felt badly about that, more than I thought he should. That caused such conflicting feelings in me, which sent my thoughts back to my own father and what had happened between us. More like what hadn't happened, and to his untimely death. My father that showed me less love that this man who should have been no more than one instructor in a long line of easily forgotten instructors.

I too had come close to an untimely death; I'd survived only to find myself maimed hideously. And this _instructor_, Colonel O'Neill, had moved heaven and earth to rectify that for me, something my own father wouldn't have done.

That this man would do so much for me caused long unused feelings to stir in me. I felt for the Colonel as I would for my father if I could and if he knew of these feelings, I'm sure he'd probably be embarrassed. No doubt he has children and doesn't need me. But just for a while there, I felt as if I was his son, I basked in his acceptance of my existence. Stupid, really stupid. If my own father didn't want me, why would anyone else? That makes me mad, and that's what caused me to lash out at the Colonel. All of those feelings of being unwanted and unloved are very close to the surface right now because of the mandatory counseling and things that I had buried have been drudged up to be placed in the harsh light of day. The absolute last place I wanted to have them ever again.

And it's tearing me apart.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Wanting to see how Jack's meeting with Lt. Van Sickle had gone, I decided to drop by his office. He'd been so up when he had come by earlier and being with a euphoric Jack is a rare experience not to be missed. I hastened my pace.

Finding my way down that little known short hall, I found his office locked. This had me puzzled. Where is Jack?

Checking with the topside Security Desk, they tell me he had checked out early in the afternoon to the Academy, but not back in.

Glancing at my watch, I found it was after 6:00 p.m. He couldn't still be at the Academy. No, he should be back by now. It's clear that he's not in the Mountain. A sudden thought strikes me cold.

Oh, goodness, no!

Something must have gone wrong. Could the Lieutenant have refused? No, that's just not possible, he's military; he might try, but that would be as far as it goes. And why would he? It's a great opportunity. Jack went to great lengths to procure this chance for him.

Something is wrong. If everything were going according to his plan he'd be here, I know Jack. He'd be here and be working on the smooth deployment of that plan. So, what kind of bump has he hit? The only way I'll find out is to find him.

Calling his cell I get his voicemail instead, and his answering machine when I try his home.

Okay, this is not good; he's never out of range of both phones. This just confirms that something has gone wrong because as 2IC of the SGC he has to be in touch. And Jack takes his responsibilities very seriously, despite appearances.

He's probably at home and, being the most stubborn man I know, he'll be up on the roof trying to figure out a way to flatten the bump he's just tripped over. He never gives up, but I'll drive by his home just to make sure he doesn't use too much force on that bump.

Fortunately, Jack lives fairly close to Cheyenne Mountain in a very small neighborhood surrounded by wild country. He says the house doesn't look isolated, but he can bail out the back of the house and disappear into the woods, 'it's a soldier thing.'

Janet says it's a 'former POW thing.'

A point of view I find rather ridiculous since Jack spends so much time being a prisoner of the Goa'uld and he doesn't exhibit any of the horrible things you hear manifesting in other POW's in similar situations.

It's not Jack, he's more interested in getting out and kicking their butts.

His truck is in the dark driveway of his house when I finally come within view of it; parking in the driveway, I step out and study my friend's home. No lights are visible, and after knocking on the door, he doesn't appear. So, I go back to the driveway to gain access to that side of the house, and to where I will find the access ladder to his rooftop telescope platform.

Climbing the ladder, I find… no one.

Backing down the ladder to the ground, I continue around the house and still no lights show. Crossing the lawn to the back deck, I almost kill myself tripping over something in the dark. Sprawling face first onto damp turf, I'm thankful that Jack has one of the softest lawns I ever had the misfortune to land on.

"You okay there Daniel?"

Jack's voice is so clear and close in the darkness of his backyard I yelp.

"Daniel!"

Jack must have been sitting there in the dark and his voice rang with alarm. I can hear him scrabbling around on the deck and in my mind's eye I see him lose his footing on those dark steps in his haste to reach me. This thought concerns me; I don't want him to fall, especially since I know that a fall down those steps will not end on soft grass. And one of us face-first on the ground at a time is more than enough.

"Stay there, I'm okay, you just startled me. What are you sitting in the dark for?"

As I'm picking myself up off the ground, I hear a metal twang as the landscape lighting comes on, giving me just enough light to make out the sprinkler I'd stumbled over. Able to see a clear path, I start making my way to the deck steps.

"Hoping that you'd give up and go home."

All I can see is a darker silhouette in the murky light; he settles himself on the top step.

"And what kind of friend would I be if I did that?"

Not put off at all by his growled lack of welcome and because I want him to talk to me, I sit down on the bottom step and stretch out my legs along the riser, blocking his escape into the yard.

"Not much of one I guess. Sorry, I'm lousy company tonight."

Such words from him are a heartfelt apology, one that I accept. He scoots his knees in my direction and rests his head back against the banister. In the darkness, I can't read his expression. I can barely make out his form. In his own way he's telling me he wants to talk, just by staying where he is. That's why he turned on the landscape lights rather than the deck lights. When the subjects are deeply personal, he finds comfort in the darkness.

"And it shows. So, what's the problem?"

Even when he's willing, I'll still have to encourage him to talk.

"That's the problem. I don't know."

'Opening up so soon? That's a new record for him.' Squinting up at him I see little and imagine him shrugging his shoulders, an apt movement to match his words and voice. Although I can't see him, I can hear him and he's fidgeting, another clear sign of his current state of mind.

"Maybe I can help Jack, but you'll have to give me a little more information. Forgot my crystal ball."

He chuckles a little at that; it makes me feel better about this. He's not completely stumped. I would bet on that.

"I talked to Lt. Van Sickle. It's about him. But it resonates something in me, something bad."

'Shit.'

"Ah, and that would be…?"

"Remember when Kennedy tried to take Teal'c and what they were going to do to him?"

Jack's voice hardens; he is remembering his struggle to keep Teal'c from being taken, as am I. Some subjects can get Jack mad at light speed and this is one of them. I answer him in a neutral tentative voice, hoping to calm him.

"Yes…"

"Early in my career, I got really torn up in a couple of missions. And out of some misguided concern for my well-being I was given to the head shrinkers... and they did to me what Kennedy wanted to do to Teal'c."

My stomach lurched at the bleakness in his voice; a bleakness that sparked a hot anger in me for the needless suffering my friend has endured over the years. And like a fool, I let my voice reveal my thoughts.

"No!"

The word rang with my shocked denial as I yelped it out, Jack's voice rose in volume, mistaking my meaning.

"Damn it, Daniel, yes! You thought I was bad when you first met me. Back then I was worse. I knew what a gun barrel tasted like way before… before Charlie... died."

He choked on his son's name, but continued.

"I'm positive that what they did to me... how they changed me, placed me on the path to what I almost did to Abydos."

He almost whispered out the last words. I could feel his emotional pain… and fear. His voice was telling me just how badly he'd been hurt. How scared of what he could have done. He's been sitting here in the dark remembering, not hiding from me. His pain gave rise to some of my own, he is my friend and I feel for him. This new information has me racking my mind for clues to how I can be of help. Only to wonder if his hopelessness, his hidden buried despair could be rooted that far back in his life. I'd always thought Charlie's death was the wellspring of Jack's lack of concern for his own survival.

"But you went back to your wife, and you had Charlie. You've always talked about that time of your life with fondness. I don't understand."

Jack hasn't spoken often of his married life, but there was always a contentment in those few words, which I'd never heard in his voice before.

"Eventually, I figured out the shrinks weren't interested in helping me, They only saw me as their chance to see how far a man could be pushed, so I learned to play their game and won. After a while, I was discharged from their care. That probably saved my life. But, I don't think I was sane then. Taking control of my life, I forced myself to act like I'd been before all that shit happened. With time, I got better and the act became natural. To the point where I didn't have to think about every move I made. I was okay until… you know."

Yes, I knew. Charlie and Abydos. His voice told me that he'd regained iron control of himself again. Thoughts of Charlie could still rip that control away, maybe it always would. Someday, I really hoped that he would be able to remember his son without such soul searing anguish.

"Okay… And just how is that connected to Eric Van Sickle?"

"Today, I saw how I was back then... in him."

Such a simple thing to say, but the implication was horrible.

"What do you mean?"

'And just what is it doing to you, my friend?'

"Someone's been messing with his head, he's not the same level headed 'get on with life' kid I last talked to a couple of weeks ago, that's what I mean."

He nearly spat out the last words, not angry with me, but with the situation.

"Who would do such a thing?"

"I don't know. I might even be barking up the wrong tree, but his roommate was protective of him. Simply because I was a stranger, he automatically assumed that I was there to cause problems. That tells me a lot, but not who or why."

His angry words of a moment ago have burned out; his voice now has a deflated edge. He's uncertain, not an easy state for Jack.

"We need to find out then."

"We? You mean me; I'll start asking around tomorrow. That's another reason why I was sitting in the dark, I was trying to figure out what to do."

His movements are sure as I hear him shift around above me, he's made up his mind, but I somehow needed to change it.

"Jack I think that I should do this for you."

The lack of sound from his direction tells me he's listening. Speaking quickly, I ruthlessly use this opportunity to convince him that it's okay for him to accept my help.

'Please Jack, listen to me. Friends help friends.' A little voice in my heard whispers, 'Yes, and he's been burned badly by his _friends_ too.' That whisper fuels my need to convince him that not all of his friends will. That I won't.

"It's a military thing and I'm a colonel. They have to answer my questions."

The man's not dumb, but sometimes he can't see the forest for the trees, I smile at my use of such an apt metaphor involving Jack's favorite off world greenery.

"That's my point, exactly."

Reaching out I shake his ankle and keeping my hand there hoping the physical contact will deepen his attention to my words. He needs to hear them if his mind is to make the jump onto my line of thinking.

"Excuse me?"

Those two words heavily drip with the old O'Neill sarcasm, telling me of his confusion over my statement. Feeling his gaze fall on my hand where I grasp his leg, physically asking him to stay and listen. He doesn't pull away. Maybe I'm getting through to him?

"You will ask official questions and they will give you official answers, not necessarily the truth. But if I ask, I'm asking unofficial questions that will give unofficial answers, which might be closer to the truth."

"And you'd do this?"

Such an incredulous tone he uses. Oh, Jack, why do you find it so difficult to believe friends do such things for each other? Although I do believe, he wouldn't have had this problem before Frank Cromwell left him behind.

"I am your friend."

'Not everyone will abandon you, Jack.'

"Yeah Danny, you are."

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

Lt. Van Sickle arrived at my office door in the Infirmary promptly at 9:00 a.m.; I invited him in to ask him a few questions about his health.

He seemed… well, off.

Where was the excitement?

He was polite and to the point, but I might as well been talking to a computer. No, that's not right, there would have been more reaction from the machine. I could not get past the silence, nor see more than a blank mask on his face. Unable to determine his emotional state informally, I shelved that task for later. As I could always talk to his counselor about that aspect of his health.

Colonel O'Neill's e-mail had been waiting for me when I arrived in the Infirmary at 7:30 a.m.

It told me when the Lieutenant was to report to me.

That was, well… off too.

The Colonel will usually come in person.

Sure, he uses his e-mail, probably a lot more than we give him credit for, but he usually tries to keep in personal contact with as many people as he can who work under him in the SGC. And that would be about everyone on base. I'm sure that he gets a better picture of the readiness of his command this way.

When it comes to medicine, I feel the same way. 'Hands on' is better.

This too will have to wait until later, for when I can speak to him face-to-face, seems the thing to do.

Making sure that the Lieutenant had been assigned on-base quarters I note its location.

Next, I outline my plan of physical conditioning; he is to walk for 15 minutes and rest for 15 minutes. After five repetitions, he is to take two hours off to eat and rest. Then repeat the first part before quitting for the day. I admonish him to eat properly, drink adequate liquids, sleep reasonable hours, and not to overtire himself. And telling him that if he has any problems at all, he's to return to me for reevaluation. In addition, he's to report to me every morning for the next two weeks until I release him for limited duty.

He doesn't ask what the limits are. He hasn't asked about anything. He sits there nodding in answer and looking at the floor a lot.

Does he even know what he's here for? Surely, the Colonel told him what he has in mind.

This is all so puzzling.

I watch the young man leave, clutching his instructions in his hand.

His responses tomorrow morning will enable me to either increase the walking time or decrease it. I am sure that I'll increase it. Today is just my measuring stick, to confirm his state of current fitness. Over the next few days I'll increase his time and distance because I want him to improve rapidly and to do that I need to keep a close eye on his condition.

After the Lieutenant leaves, I try to call the Colonel, but his office machine answers suggesting that he can be reached via e-mail.

One of these days, he's going to have to get an aide, and then we will know where he is. Of course, that's exactly why he doesn't have one. He likes his freedom to roam the base and has taken the necessary steps to safeguard it. Can't say that I blame him.

Instead, I call Lt. Van Sickle's counselor, talking at length with him. The more I talk, the more concerned I become. His description of the Lieutenant's state of mind is vastly different from what little I've seen. If what he says is true, I need to rethink my position on him going off world. I ask for a copy of Lieutenant's chart, which the counselor offers to e-mail immediately.

Impatiently I wait for nearly three hours before it appears in my in-box and can begin reading. However, the more I read, the more concerned I become. What I read is just not possible.

This is the third thing today that has been… strangely off.

What would be the odds that all three of these _off_ occurrences would center around Colonel O'Neill somehow? I certainly wouldn't bet against it.

Needing some clarity, I know just who might be able to provide it.

Lifting the phone, I dial.

"Hello, Dr MacKenzie…

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Delayed in starting to track down what had been happening to Lt. Van Sickle for Jack, I finally escape the Mountain. Although, I didn't want to put off this investigation at all, sometimes 'shit happens,' as Jack is so fond of saying.

During the morning, I was trapped at the SGC, and watched vaguely amused as Jack did his utmost to avoid Janet and Eric.

Eric I could understand, but I really don't know why he was avoiding Janet.

As my thoughts have been centered on Jack all morning, I have just realized that he may be having paternal feelings towards the young lieutenant.

Many have seen how he reacts to children; they draw him in like a magnet. Few have realized that he gravitates towards young adults also. This little known phenomena can readily be seen when he gets involved in the SGC training programs. The trainers all seem to know that Jack is soft on the young kids in their charge. However, the kids who have heard about the 'bad assed impossible-to-please Colonel O'Neill' are stunned by his nurturing attitude towards them. Then, just as they start to relax around him, they discover that one foul up gets them up close and personal with the 'bad assed' part of Jack. Because, just like any dad, Jack yells them deaf when they screw up.

So it only follows that if he yells at the new recruits, he's yelled at Eric too.

Therefore, Jack must be afraid of what might happen if they met face-to-face. Just as he would have agonized over his son's reaction after dressing him down for some minor infraction of the rules.

Jack can face down a dozen Goa'uld each holding a mature symbiote looking for a host with him being the only possibility for light years. That's no sweat for him. However, put him in a personal emotional situation and he feels helpless.

It's all about control; he feels he has none in such a situation.

Since he can't command another person's feelings and believes he can't really influence them either, he avoids being placed in any position that forces him to deal with his or anyone else's. He is so wrong about that; he influences everyone around him. Not necessarily positively, but he provokes very strong feelings in the people around him.

I'd always wondered why situations rife with emotion leave Jack feeling powerless. But, after revealing his experience with those first military psychiatrists, I guess I now know why. How can he believe that others feel friendship, fondness or even love for him? He had been striped of his very will to live, believing the lies told to him, convincing him he was worthless, unwanted and not worthy of anyone's love. Only through shear will did he fight free of their deceit, but somewhere along the way, his trust of others disappeared. He had been taught that he could not trust anyone's emotional declarations. So strong is that distrust that only dogs and children are capable of breaking through it quickly. He only allows humans to breach his fortress walls after endless trials and tests, a nearly hopeless audition for his trust and friendship.

What they did to Jack is just one more reason I prefer to mistrust the military, I only trust Jack.

Now free of the Mountain and its more pressing claims on my time, I'm finally on the road to the Air Force Academy. Once I arrive, I have a simple plan, and that is to speak to anyone and everyone who knows Eric. Of course, the first person to start with will be Eric's most recent roommate.

For low security areas like this, I have no trouble getting onto the Academy grounds, my military ID is almost as good as Jack's.

Parking at the first security check, I get out and walk the rest of the way.

Planning to spend most of the day here doesn't bother me, as I always like to visit. I've actually been here a number of times, as a lecturer or accompanying Sam or Jack when they have business here.

Many of the department heads know me by sight, but many of the instructors do not, giving me a certain anonymity that Jack could never have here. Even in civilian dress, Jack screams officer. As a matter of fact, I've seen experienced sergeants salute him out of uniform, which is something they should know better than to do. Jack explained once, that by saluting him while he's out of uniform, they were compromising his personal security.

In a conflict zone, Jack would become an instant target. And Jack is already his own conflict zone in and of himself.

Jack had dug up information on Eric's roommate, one Lt. Thaddeus Sean Roy, a young man who is probably as Irish as Jack himself. Both share the tendency to reddish hair, though 'Thad,' as I find he is known as, has it in the extreme. I know which dorm he's in as well as his room number and his class schedule. According to an impressed Jack, he wants to be an astronaut and has a good chance of achieving that goal. Right now though, Thad is flying gun-platform helicopters; this also impressed Jack, the jet jockey. Lt. Roy is an introductory instructor on trainer helicopters. Jack says that it's almost unheard of for a cadet to be an instructor too.

Accordingly Jack proclaimed, 'The kid has talent.'

Lt. Roy also doesn't have the security clearance to know what Eric is being trained for. All he knows is that Eric is in Command Tract training destined for leadership.

Picking my place to encounter Thad, catching him just as he's leaving an aeronautics class, I fall in step with him and open a dialogue.

"Uh, hi, I understand that you're Lt. Van Sickle's roommate."

I'm nice and friendly. _He is not_.

He grabs my arm and jerks me to a stop.

"Leave him the hell alone. Haven't you tormented him enough?"

His ruddy freckled face is a fiery red, his angry eyes just slits; I can feel a bruise forming under his tightening grip. He is upset and I need to allay his misconception of my identity before he does more than unknowingly bruise me.

"Please, I'm not who you think I am. I'm a friend of Colonel O'Neill, he's worried about Eric."

Trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, I maintain eye contact with him, letting him read me as I try to look as innocent and sincere as possible.

He must like what he sees because he releases me, steps back, and looks a little dazed.

"I'm… I'm sorry, I…"

"No problem. Here let's sit."

Pointing out the bench alongside the walkway, I lead him in that direction.

"I'm the one, who should be sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

Leaving plenty of room for the jumpy young man, I sit at one end of the bench.

"No, you shouldn't be the one to apologize, you just walked into something. I made the mistake and jumped to a conclusion."

He remains standing, sincerely apologetic. He fidgets much as Jack would in such an emotional situation.

"What did you mean about Eric being tormented?"

He shakes his head at my gesture for him to sit; his eyes dart everywhere, seeking to see everything. His feet are in constant motion, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Yet, I have the distinct feeling that this young man is not the kind to run, but would willingly meet trouble head on. Something has him spooked.

"It's a long story and I can't explain it here. Too many eyes and ears. And, please I'm not being paranoid, I've already been threatened, actually they threatened Eric if I didn't back off. I'm taking a chance just accepting your word for who you are. If you're a friend of Colonel O'Neill, you must be okay. But you could be just saying that to get to Eric."

"No, no I am a friend of Jack's… eh, Colonel O'Neill. If you can't talk here, just tell me where and when, because he needs to know what's going on. Eric is important to him; he just wants to help. Please."

Trying to keep my voice level and calm, I hope that he will reciprocate. However, I find myself glancing around, his behavior is catching.

"Okay, tomorrow is my off day, I'm free to go off base. Could you meet me tomorrow, outside the public library at 11:00 a.m.? I've got to go. They were watching me. So far today, I haven't seen them, but…"

"Then go, I'll be there."

Thad bolts away, up the curving walk; he stops at the top of the gentle incline and stares back. I've seen Jack do that, checking for hostiles on his back trail and I shudder that one so young already has developed that habit.

'Jack, what have you stumbled on to?'

Go to: Chapter Three


	3. Chapter 3

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER THREE **

**Teal'c**

"You are Lt.VanSickle."

The words startle me. Calming my thumping heart, I try not to let on to that fact.

Many people here have approached me, they've all been terrific, and most of them seem to know my story, so I don't have to explain myself. As for me, I try not to be friendly. Why make friends only to be kicked out into the street afterwards?

Not having to explain myself or put effort into relationships that can't exist gives me a certain relief. But, it's an unsettling relief, which somehow feels wrong.

Having not heard this person's approach in the murky hallway shakes my meager store of self-confidence. I've always thought that I was hard to sneak up on, this just shows me that a skill I had taken for granted only exists in my head. My heart settles into my stomach as I realize this is just more proof of how useless I really am. Glancing towards the voice, I nearly miss a step, _Jaffa_.

Correction, _The _Jaffa

_O'Neill's_ Jaffa.

The _SGC's pet_ Jaffa.

'That one's just plain insulting.'

_Teal'c. _

'That's better.'

Why does putting a name to my lurker cause me to feel better? Is my fleeting fear more acceptable because a Jaffa is something a _man_ can be fearful of? Is that why I ridiculed him silently in the freedom of my thoughts? Do I need to do that to feel self-worth? Shame suffuses me. Feeling like such a low life jerk, I huff out a disgusted sigh. Then again, why should I care? In less than 45 days, I'm out. Like someone putting a broken toy out in the trash.

"I apologize. I did not mean to startle you."

His words shatter my internal dialogue of degradation; he is telling me politely that my every thought had flown across my face. And, here in this dimly lit hall, he read it as if it was written in six-foot tall neon letters. Embarrassed would better describe my state, as I'm not just startled or surprised at being so readable to a Jaffa, I know they have many enhanced senses. Such augmented abilities are gifted them by their enforced carrying of a symbiote. From training, I recall good eyesight is just one of those virtues received in exchange for being a living incubator. An incubator that is discarded and easily replaced when that function can no longer be performed. Like _that _knowledge will ever be used; going off world is something denied me now. Cutting off my study of comparative worth, I attempt to divorce myself from my chaotic thoughts and give voice to a suitable reply.

"I'm fine and you're Teal'c."

"You are correct."

He is huge and stands a few feet from me with his hands clasped behind his back, standing at ease. Even I know his stance is deliberate; he's showing me that I need not fear him, his distance minimizing his bulk and height. Why does he attempt to make me feel comfortable, safe? I shove that question away, back into that jumble of feelings that I don't want to deal with and fall back on ingrained politeness.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

'Great line there Eric. Jeez, such imagination!'

The Jaffa no doubt receives more information as I feel my face heat up at my witty words, bringing to mind that I really need to work on my poker face. Yeah, Like I'd need it in my non-future.

"If you are agreeable, I wish to speak to you on the subject of this world's young warriors."

"Ah, sure, why not? I'm on my way to the commissary for lunch, would you like to speak there?"

Seemingly against my will, I hear the sarcastic edge to my words. Shouting out, 'It's not like I have anything important to do.'

"Indeed."

His answer puzzles me a little; he walks silently alongside me, surely he couldn't have missed my less than respectful tone. He doesn't speak a word until we are laden down with our food selections and seated. He opens the conversation with a single question.

"Are you quite recovered Lt.VanSickle?"

"Yes, I'm fine and you can call me Eric if you'd like." 'Might as well get used to it, I won't be a lieutenant much longer anyway.'

His inquiry surprises me, but he is Colonel O'Neill's Jaffa. Is he checking up on me for him? Does the man's guilt know no bounds? To my surprise, I can't keep my eyes off the Jaffa; he ever so gently smiles at my staring. The smile creates a fission of guilt that burns through me at my less than charitable thoughts.

"Using your personal name would be most uncomfortable. I am sorry. It is a cultural consideration, and no offense is meant."

The Jaffa regally inclines his head toward me. There is no other word to describe the move, regal. His explanation is more than I expected and something that I didn't know. Despite my determination to not submit to the Colonel's plans, I find myself interested.

"None taken. My studies never covered Jaffa social culture?"

"It is not covered in the SGC's training program."

His face is... well, not entirely welcoming, but his voice tells me something entirely different. My ears hear his offer of welcome, yet my eyes tell be to beware. His facial expressions are so subtle and somehow not quite human. Could I be misreading his face that badly? My interest ratchets up another notch and despite myself, I ask a question.

"I wonder why?"

'Yeah, why do I care? And why the hell isn't that covered in training.'

"O'Neill says that the culture of an enslaved race has no impact on how to fight the enslavers."

I swear that was said as if it had been a pronouncement from on high. On second thought, its omission is not all that strange, at least at the level that I and other incoming soldiers function within a SGC Team. The Jaffa aren't the enemy, they are victims of the Goa'uld. Unfortunately, we can't reason with them, as they have no control, but must fight our way though them to reach the real enemy. The Goa'uld is that enemy and they too cannot be reasoned with, but they choose not to, in fact it seems to be a genetic imperative with them. Knowing the social niceties of the Jaffa doesn't help us take down the Goa'uld, who in turn could care less what they do in what little freedom they possess as their designer slaves.

"Oh… Hey, you call Colonel O'Neill by just one name. It's not his first name, but you only use one. Why is that?"

'What am I doing?'

"It is a sign of respect to a brother."

"He's your brother?"

Now how in the hell can that be? Blood brothers? And why the hell do I care?

"Yes, my Warrior Brother. Do you not have someone you would willing die for?"

'Ah, he means brothers-in-arms.' Jeez, my mind is seeking out information despite my resolve not to.

The Jaffa… ah, Teal'c's face reveals a glimmer of affection at saying 'Warrior Brother.' Can a Jaffa participate in a friendship or feel fondness for another? Their culture may not covered in training, but much is known about what makes a Jaffa warrior tick. As I recall Jaffa are taught to divorce themselves from emotion, all part of carrying a symbiote. His affection for this man I'm currently trying to shun makes me envious.

"Well... I'm still… ah, _was_ new at the warrior game. I'd guess that I'd die to protect my country, but for just one person? I don't know."

Such a strange thing to ask. Before he killed himself, I would've died to protect my father. Right now stepping in front of a bullet for anyone else would be way too easy and that thought has a certain fatal allure, I fear. Could I do that? End it, even for the benefit of another? Fully knowing that I was giving that person another chance at a future that I feel I can never have for myself? Do I have the strength to do that?

"You would die for your country. Do you not also believe that no day is a good day for dying? O'Neill constantly states this."

Yet again, I freeze for just a moment, exposing more information to the Jaf… Teal'c. He seems to take to heart everything that Colonel O'Neill says. As for dying, do I have the right to do that? Everything I've been taught, and did believe in, says to live and fight another day.

"Well, yes I do believe that too, but sometimes you have no choice."

What's with all of the questions about death and dying?

"O'Neill says that death is not a choice, only life is a choice."

"I think that he would find it hard to refuse death."

Right now lying back and letting go seems far easier than to struggle on.

"I have seen him do so many times, yet he still lives."

Pretending to eat the sandwich in my hand I covertly scrutinize Teal'c. Is he serious? Just how many times has Colonel O'Neill 'refused death?' And just how the hell do you do that? Where would anyone find the heart to struggle free of death more than once, let alone twice? Three times? More?

Can I do that and do I really want to? I have nothing to struggle for. No purpose, no future and no father.

"You think highly of him don't you?"

"He has much honor. Never has he misrepresented himself to me without just cause, he has nurtured my hope for my people and protected me with his life. I could do no less for him."

"You love him, brotherly love that is."

If only I could have something like that. Going on might be easier, maybe even worth the effort. Someone and something to strive for.

"Even though your concept of love is foreign to me, I do understand it. Yes, I love O'Neill."

"I envy you that love."

"You have no one to love?"

"Once, I did love someone, but I discovered that he didn't love me back."

"Who was this person?"

"My father."

**Dr MacKenzie**

Dr Fraiser just left because she had an emergency.

She gave me Lt. Van Sickle's chart and wants me to check the counselor's findings on the Lieutenant's mental recovery from his off world accident.

The counselor is a Dr Means, an independent consultant retained by the Air Force Academy Mental Health Clinic.

The setting up of this clinic has never met with my approval; it should be a satellite office of the Academy Hospital, staffed by them, which would ensure better control and personnel.

This Dr Means' credentials are minimal at best, fraudulent at worst. As for the chart, it's utter nonsense.

Dr Fraiser bringing this to me has gladden my day by presenting me with a most singular opportunity to make amends

Admittedly, I've approached the unique problems that the SGC presents to my profession badly, creating an animosity among many of those stationed here. People such as Colonel 'Jack' O'Neill, and especially Dr Daniel Jackson.

At one time, Dr Fraiser was counted there too, but she has personally seen my attempts to reform my approach to these brave people.

Unfortunately, when I first started here at the SGC, I had more in common with this Dr Means than I care to remember.

My inability to see beyond my training was my problem, believing that all that can be learned had been learned. I'd completely dismissed the fact that my knowledge never took into account alien worlds and their occupants, _aliens_. That there is a distinct possibility that these aliens might totally negate everything ever learned about the human mind and its reactions to its environment. My science was developed entirely in one environment. Earth.

It never occurred to me that the approved approach, and in my opinion, the only approach, no longer applied.

To my bitter chagrin, I was late to learn that I needed a new frame of reference, a new approach.

How could I have locked up Dr Jackson without thinking about a possible alien influence? Well, suffice it to say I really didn't believe in aliens, then.

My unwitting 'victims' were the catalyst, cracking open my mind to the truth of my own ignorance.

Actually, my first talk with Teal'c, the alien among us, created that crack. What he had to say about what could be found beyond the Stargate was beyond belief. Beyond mine at least.

When the SGC was taken over by hostile aliens only a few months later, my disbelief was shattered. That event allowed the cold hard light of reality to pour through the open breach in my mind, illuminating my deficiency in all of its arrogant nakedness. No longer could I deny how little I really knew about the human mind after what I had witnessed. Although I was only on the edge of that invasion, and hardly involved, I saw the results of what those aliens did to our personnel.

Unwillingly, I witnessed Colonel O'Neill's bravery, Dr Fraiser's helplessness, and Major Carter's near incoherency when unable to differentiate reality from unreality. And finally, General Hammond's grief at what had been done to his people.

No longer could I conveniently dismiss aliens as minor or non-existent. They were very real and humans reacted to them in ways no psychologist would ever dream of.

Being the consummate professional that I am, I took a month off to re-evaluate my worth to the project.

With a growing need, I began to rededicate myself to my science and to recognize that it was plowing unknown ground at the SGC.

I needed to see with new eyes.

Therefore, I decided to return and try to meet this new challenge with an open mind. Armed with the certain knowledge that I had to face the fact that I might never be trusted by those that I harmed through my own self deluded denial.

Dr Fraiser has just presented me with the means to show my former victims that I have changed.

I vow that I will ferret out this rogue doctor and I will not fail, again.

Tracking down this Dr Means' education and past positions will just be the beginning. And, if I can find any, I'll talk to his colleagues and patients. Knowing this man will enable me to insure that he never harms another, ever.

I owe this to Dr Jackson.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

My conversation with Teal'c was a little strange; I'd never spoken to an alien before. Strange, since I've shot at more than one, but never a conversation with any.

He has a strange, professor-like way of speaking and despite myself I liked him. From a distance, he can appear menacing, but he really is a very gentle person. It's hard to reconcile this refined person with the training video's I've watched of him demonstrating Jaffa fighting techniques. He was ruthless and brutal, just as his fighting partner was. Colonel O'Neill.

At that time, I hadn't known who either of them was, and I thought they were fighting for real.

Only at the end of video did I, or anyone for that matter, realize that it was a demonstration.

We all found the 'outtakes' hilarious, helping to dull the edge of reality the demonstration presented.

Teal'c asked me many questions and I asked many of him. The strangest part was that his words seemed to drag me out into life again. I found our conversation intriguing, becoming a reluctant participant in it. However, there was a trend to his questions; he seemed to be comparing all of my answers to his estimate of Colonel O'Neill. As if he was trying to discover just how unlike other Earth soldiers his commander was or wasn't. It was obvious that he was curious about me, as he would be of anyone that the Colonel took an interest in. I should have been happy at the attention he paid to me, taking the time to speak with me, but I found it difficult to enjoy. My time here is limited and I will never be able to return. Pursuing a tie with this alien would be an act of futility.

What really floored me about Teal'c was his offer to tutor me in hand-to-hand combat. He says that I need to learn to compensate for my new limitations, learning to minimize them, conquering them. He acts as if that is what normally happens, that my 'limitations' as he refers to them as not an insurmountable block to a true warrior, that the warrior just needs to do a little adjusting of his skills to compensate for them.

No one has suggested this to me before.

That I can learn to overcome this, that maybe I could still do something worthwhile.

Well, that's not entirely true, Colonel O'Neill tried to tell me, and I wouldn't let him.

XXX

I'd been ordered to report to Colonel O'Neill's office.

In all my walking through the SGC, I had never come across it, and was reduced to asking one of the on-duty SF's for directions. Instead I got an escort; the Colonel's office is hidden down a short hallway off the main corridor leading to the commissary. All the doors along the hallway are marked 'storage.'

How bizarre.

The Colonel's office is the very last door before the fire doors leading to the emergency stairs. The SF muttered something about the SGC's greatest secret.

A bellowed 'come' answered my knock.

Upon pushing the door open, I find a tiny little space that appeared as if the architect had forgotten to erase a couple of left over lines on the blueprint. The door is situated dead center of one of the long walls. To the right of me is a desk sitting in front of two filing cabinets that are pushed into opposing corners, with a makeshift set of blocks and boards taken up with books about half their height between them. There is barely any room to get around the desk and just enough room between the desk and shelves for a chair. In the center of the room are two old chairs with wooden arms that are facing the desk.

On the left side of the room, is a metal cabinet, which reaches from the floor to nearly the ceiling, like a double-door locker. Wedged against the remaining span of short wall is a cot with two folded blankets at one end that is a neat as a pin. All of the walls are bare, except for the big red panic button and light switch close to the door. Even the desk seemed bare, just an empty in-basket, desk lamp, and computer monitor whose back is angled toward the door. In fact, I'd have to be behind the desk in order to see the screen.

The word 'Spartan' sprang to mind and for some reason 'desolate' closely followed it.

This meeting was something that I had not been looking forward to, I knew from the grapevine that Colonel O'Neill was avoiding me, even Dr Fraiser asked if I had talked to him since returning to the SGC.

Surely, the shit will hit now, and I'm about to pay for my lack of enthusiasm. At last, my just desserts. My last hurrah.

Standing to attention I saluted, he muttered 'at ease,' without looking up. All I saw was the top of his head as he bent over the papers before him.

"Dr Fraiser's report on your fitness is favorable."

His tone is flat, with no warmth, but no anger either. He still doesn't look up. Fidgeting, I felt a vague unknown guilt build inside me. It surprises me; my feelings have been so distant of late. Why is this one so close?

"A secure computer terminal has been installed in your quarters along with the secure files you'll need, and your assignment and its completion date. Do you have any questions?"

After that delivery, I'd better not have any questions, because I think I really screwed up with the Colonel. A nearly overwhelming sadness engulfs me, so much stronger and closer than the previous vague guilt was.

"No Sir. Colonel Sir."

"Dismissed."

With a sickening flash of déjà vu I saluted and backed through the door, hoping that he would look up. I had this foolish feeling that I needed forgiving and he was the only one who could provide it.

Slowly walking to my quarters, pushing the enigma that was Colonel O'Neill and how he operated to the back of my mind. A gossamer thread of desire built within me to see what this 'assignment' was all about.

Just what is it that the Colonel believed I could do, disabled as I am?

Rounding the last corner I spotted a SF, he stood guard before my door.

'Jeez, he wasn't kidding about secure.'

The SF thrust an inventory receipt at me, wanting my signature. The receipt was for the secure files, which meant that the SF had to have entered my room. Something I should have realized would happen when the Colonel mentioned the installation of equipment in my quarters. Still, it felt like a violation. You would think that I would be used to _that_ feeling by now.

Stepping inside I had a further surprise; the room was completely redone. New bigger desk, state of the art computer, a secured locking cabinet had been bolted to the floor. Gone was my cot; in its place was a real bed. I'd also acquired an overstuffed chair with side table and lamp.

I was totally confused now. Why this?

Needing to get rid of the SF, I signed his receipt after double-checking it against what had been placed here.

As soon as he left, I sat down to boot the computer, running on an disinterested autopilot through the process of providing codes to connect, being prompted to change each as I went along, and at some points being offered new ones to memorize. Each new code, complete with the boilerplate of not keeping it written down for more time than needed to commit it to memory.

Now having a dozen new codes to remember I wondered just how many a man like O'Neill would have.

The last window to come up was the secure intra-base flash mail system. I had mail, marked eyes only, the kind that had to be opened and read, for once closed it destroyed itself, no copy would remain in the system. This one had attachments, which could be kept.

Opening the e-mail, I found that it was my 'assignment' from the Colonel. Ordering me to print off the attachments and follow their directions.

Okay, simple.

Starting the print, I read each page as it progressed. Each page stunned me more than the last.

This useless gimp in charge of an off world mission? Me?

Personnel were to be chosen by _my_ review of the provided files and said personnel were to be under _my_ command. _My command!_

But, that's impossible isn't it? Who in their right mind would obey me now? Let's not even think about my lowly rank, huh!

Then I read the proposal to create a new level of personnel in the military, starting with the SGC, to keep disabled personnel in non-combat zones to free up those who were still battle fit. About the importance of keeping the knowledge and expertise where it was needed for the protection of Earth. Almost against my will, this started to energize me.

Astounded, I found I agreed with the project, but I also knew that I didn't belong in it. My disappointment, as heavy as the mountain above me, effectively crushed my newborn need. My sudden want meant nothing; I didn't meet the guidelines. Desolation took root, as with dismay I realized that I had no experience or real expertise. Glancing around my now more comfortable quarters I saw it for the bribe it had to be. This was a taunt; I had nothing to offer.

What the hell!

This is about HIS guilt. No way will I let this slide by!

My laboriously nurtured tendrils of energy and interest withered, blackening into a coal dust that ignites to feed an anger birthing deep within me. The fragile scabious shell over my feelings bursts open before that anger, allowing it to ooze forth.

Calmly putting everything away properly, I retraced my steps back to that hidden little office. I didn't brother to knock; I only had about a month left before the Air Force will kick me out, and had nothing to lose. The Colonel's 'assignment' illustrated that. Now the oozing anger deep within flared into a flame, fed by the weeks of hopelessness, bleakness and pain I had lived through. It fueled my words and actions.

"You bastard!"

I shouted as I burst in. Heated anger engulfed me, I felt shielded and protected by it. My words are a whip and I lash out.

"How dare you screw with me like this."

The man behind the desk acted as if I didn't exist as I shouted again.

"Do you hear me?"

My shout was not as loud this time. No reaction, as if he were alone. Slamming my open hand onto his desk, he didn't even flinch, and all I did was make my hand burn dully. My fiery shield froze at the remembrance of other such occasions when my violent anger met no resistance. There was no resistance because it was never perceived, as I hadn't been perceived. Then as now, I did not exist. Shunned my shield shattered, I faltered.

"Damn it, don't ignore me!"

It was my father all over again. I nearly sobbed. Please, not again!

Suddenly I found myself transfixed by his eyes; I painfully swallowed a sob, as the deep amber depths of those eyes threw back a glow from the desk lamp memorizing me. Freezing before his predatory gaze, I was totally defenseless.

"And I did."

Shit! He did this deliberately. The dorm, my shouting him down... payback! The whole god damned thing was a military maneuver to him. He hasn't the slightly idea what he just did to me. Please God, he couldn't have known, could he?

"I can't do what you want me to do."

Piteously, I whine out those words, I'm forced to wonder how every man I look up to can hurt me like this. Why do they feel they must reduce me to a quivering wreck? I have an overwhelming urge to check my back for a 'kick me' sign.

"Why?"

'Why?' he asks? My father always forced me to humiliate myself. Is the Colonel the same way? Is that what is happening or am I so well conditioned that I expect it? Falling back on old responses, I begin my self-humiliation.

"The guidelines, I don't meet them."

"This is the _pilot_ project. You're not part of the project… yet. So again, why can't you do this?"

Pilot project? Unable to wrap my brain around his words; my anger resurges and helps provide my next words.

"Because it's about _your_ guilt."

Only by leaning against the Colonel's desk can I remain upright as my legs threaten to dump me on the floor. Unwillingly I'm held erect by those soul-searching eyes before me.

"Could be, but the same answer applies to that also and additionally you will sink or swim through your own efforts. Again, why can't you do this?"

What is the answer? What does he want? Finding it hard to think, I feel I'm living a nightmare. My father told me that I would always be a failure.

"Because I can't."

"Why? Give me some specifics here. I don't understand, are you brain damaged?"

His words have a sarcastic bite to them; his non-anger grates like shake's teeth before sinking deep into my wounded heart. I'm not even worth his anger! Yet, his eyes tell me something different. Confused, I don't know what to believe.

"No, I'm not, my brain is just fine. I… I just can't."

"That's not an answer, that's denial. Just explain to me why you can't do this."

Oh God! Is he channeling Dr Means? Can't I escape this somehow?

"I'm not experienced enough."

Inexperienced and uselessly maimed. Unwanted, unloved, a failure.

"Experience is not needed, ability is needed. Do you lack the ability?"

His questions hammer at my chaotic thoughts forcing them into familiar and safe paths, my recent training kicks in and I automatically respond.

"No, I've been trained for it and have the ability, but there are others more able."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

Is that what he's trying to get across, that I'm not thinking, that I haven't been thinking for a long time. I feel a ghost of hope.

"You just told me that there are others more able, surely you know who?"

"No, I don't. There just has to be."

There has to be someone better suited, I desperately search my mind. Not only have I lost an eye and fingers, but apparently my mind as well.

"Has to be? But you don't know who? You _believe_ there are others who can do this better… or did someone imply that to you?"

"You must know someone better than me."

I fall back on my belief that someone is better suited. But why do I believe that? What does he mean 'someone implied'?

"No, I don't. I see all the promising ones, dozens every year. You are the first, the only one I've found."

I can't think. _The only one!_ ME!

"But…"

'_The only one?'_

Those three words echo endlessly through my frozen brain. This is nuts!

"No, buts. I believe you can do this. You are the only one who doesn't believe."

'He believes?' I believe… what… who do I believe… because I was told. Yes, I was told that I couldn't. _My God_, Dr Means put that thought in my head. Was I manipulated long before the Colonel had?

A numb disbelief engulfs me. How could I have been talked into believing such a thing?

"I can do this?"

This is really nuts… I was convinced of my own worthlessness, talked into it by a perfect stranger.

'Can I?'

"Yep, no problem. Will you?"

For the first time in this disaster, his face shows some emotion -- hope. My gutted soul yearns for it, gathering its visage into itself, smearing it across the charred expanse there, salving the desolation.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No. You have less than a week before you take your team off world, I'll be there to observe, but this is _your_ mission."

"Sir... But… I…"

Having no words, I can't believe this. How can he believe in me? How can I?

"Just do you job son, I know you can do it."

With the ghost image of his caring eyes cradled in my memory, I find it difficult to break away from the support his desk gives me. Staggering to the door, I stumble through on trembling legs, his confident words ringing through my head. One question stands solid in the haze of emotion my mind has become.

Can I do this?

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Arriving at the library early I settle down on the steps to wait, I even brought my own book to help pass the time.

Jack would pitch a fit if he knew I snuck it out of his office. I could have picked up a copy at the Academy, but I wanted to read his copy, read his notations. He wrote the book in my hands, Jacob told me about it right after Eric had been injured, about that little C-4 trick mentioned in it and about Jacob's own book describing it in detail.

Jack has Jacob's book too, he made notations in it, I checked.

However, I had to do that at his house, he had removed the book from his office... after Eric.

The interesting part about the notations in it are all the notes around Jacob's description of the C-4 trick, I think that is where Jack learned about it. His notes are clear about that and his search for someone to demonstrate it. He didn't write down who taught him how to do it, but he did write down in excited terms learning about it. Yet, on the other page his excitement sobers as he briefly describes the injuries his unknown tutor described occurring due to this practice of using C-4 like sterno.

He finishes with an admonishment to never pass on the technique, to end the cycle of senseless accidents.

Jacob's book is in the bibliography of Jack's.

I've read nearly the entire book, he wrote about how the troops in Viet Nam survived without the support of their nation or even their own commanders. Many of the men were not regular military, but drafted, sent to survive by their own skills alone. It's a somber book; Jack notes each mistake that could have been rectified easily even under the conditions that existed at that time.

Jack's pain at the waste of those young men shines through clearly.

The man is smarter than he lets on; I figured that out a long time ago.

Many don't know about his heart, his caring, that's why I'm here.

This 'resonance' he feels with Eric, is too close, too painful. I really hate it when he feels he needs to punish himself to get at the truth. There are some things that others can do, but he will not pass on a distasteful task to others if he can do it himself. He surprised me by allowing me to do this for him; he's showing me the depth of his trust in me.

The sound of approaching steps causes me to glance up. Lt. Roy has arrived. He is out of uniform, dressed in blue jeans, hiking boots and a jean jacket over a tucked-in light blue T-shirt. He wears sunglasses, he reminds me of Jack a bit, but then they are both aviators, with like mindsets.

"Dr Jackson?"

"Yes?"

"This may sound inane, but can I see some ID?"

He scans the area looking for… someone, while I present my wallet.

"Sure. Still worried about those people you mentioned?"

"Yeah." He hands my ID back after scanning it; then picks up my book looking intently at it. "What's this?"

"Oh, that's one of Jack's books, his copy, I wanted to read his notes."

He opens the book up and examines a few pages before reverently handing it back to me.

"You really are a friend of Colonel O'Neill aren't you?"

The envy in his eyes surprises me.

"Yes, we met about six years ago, friends for almost five now."

"What's he like?"

"Jack…well, he's Jack. There is no simple way to describe him; you have to know him. Sorry, that's the best that I can do."

His disappointment is evident as I realize that Jack has another professional admirer.

"Yeah, I've seen him twice now, that was the impression I got. You're lucky to know him."

"I know. Believe me I know. Can we talk about what's been happening to Eric and these people you mentioned?"

"Okay, it started when Eric was assigned to my room after leaving the hospital…"

Thad described the decline of a determined, upbeat young man to a near defeated husk.

Eric was required to go to counseling, with a Dr Means through the on-campus mental health clinic at the Academy. He would go for an hour a day each day and Thad saw him become more listless, lose his focus, and became more fragile with each visit. He eventually got Eric to talk about the sessions, discovering that Dr Means was trying to convince him that he could do no more than vegetate now. Drumming into him that he was too damaged to successfully accomplish anything of worth. That he should just give up.

Thad told me about his anger when he realized that Eric was being nearly brainwashed by someone he was required to see. It galled him to know that someone with such promise was being treated that way; the effrontery of it all galvanized him. He got Eric to confide in him, hearing things he never told anyone except for Dr Means. And only then because he had been ordered to.

Thad took it upon himself to confront the good doctor and was threatened by a couple of men two days later. These same men began accosting Eric in the most unsavory of ways, Thad caught them taunting Eric with his supposed uselessness and why didn't he just end it all.

Just hearing this raised my ire. How could anyone threaten an injured man? Actually two 'anyones,' such a cowardly thing to do.

Thad tried to talk to others on campus that had seen Dr Means. Those few he had spoken to showed no ill effects, but none of them were seeing the doctor as often or for anything near as serious as Eric was. In addition, none of them ever encountered the men he and Eric had. Then the men began following him around campus, trying to scare him off and they threatened to rough up Eric if he didn't. So, Thad wouldn't leave Eric alone for a second after that and spent nearly two weeks standing between him and the rest of the world.

Then Jack shows up on their doorstep and observes the aftermath of this travesty.

"…I was hoping that Colonel O'Neill would help Eric out, but after what Eric told me about their conversation, I was convinced that no help would be coming from him. I'm glad I was wrong."

"Thad, I'm sorry, if I had known how serious the situation was I would have come sooner. As Jack's… eh, Colonel O'Neill's eyes and ears, I'm trying to get to the truth. I'll let him know what is going on, he'll get to the bottom of this, I'm sure."

"Thanks. I'm grateful to the Colonel already; getting Eric off Academy grounds keeps him out of the reach of that doctor and his buddies. I just wish I knew what they're trying to accomplish. Bye Dr Jackson, again thanks."

Thad skipped down the steps back the way he came; I watch the crowd hoping to see someone step out to follow him. That doesn't happen, that would be too easy and such a bad sign. Maybe those men have given up on following him since Eric is no longer Thad's to guard.

Picking up my book, I too have another place to be. Jack needs to know about this.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

My hands tremble as I stare down at them.

O'Neill Shock Treatment, patent pending, leaving the user as shocked as the usee. _So _not a pleasant experience.

Ya think!

Why would anyone take a vulnerable, injured young man and cut him off at the knees like this, I really need to know why, and I hope Danny comes up with something.

My body shudders in remembrance as images flash before my eyes, images of things I really don't want to see. Ever.

I know that I'll see them again. As long as I live, that is.

And, that was the point, _as long as I lived_. They wanted me to die.

They wanted me to kill myself.

They nearly convinced me.

That I was no good to anyone and I nearly believed them. Convincing me that I would destroy my wife, my marriage, my soon to be born child.

God!

They were right; in the end, but not for the reasons they gave.

Roughly, I scrub my hands over my face in an attempt to erase those long ago events. If only it were that simple. Pushing them back into that overfilled box of pain, I mentally stomp on the lid to get the latch to take.

At the click in my head, I heave a sigh of relief.

Go to: Chapter Four


	4. Chapter 4

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Jack wanted to come to my apartment rather than have me go to his house to talk, which surprised me. He lives much closer to Cheyenne Mountain than I do; he'd have to drive into Colorado Springs to get to my apartment.

Nor did he want to talk on Base about what I had found out about Eric's visitors.

His coming is an opportunity, one that I intended to use. Jack and the Chinese food I had ordered were both to arrive at 6:00 p.m.

Earlier my friend had looked tired and frazzled; he's working on budgeting with Hammond. Along with the usual host of other things happening at the SGC. He needed a little pampering and that was part of my plan.

Once he arrived, I led him into my small dining area and indicated the cartons of food that had barely gotten there before him.

"Black Bean and Garlic Chicken?"

His hands hovered over the little cartons, long fingers flexing, and a hopeful expression on his face.

"Yeah, it's there somewhere."

"Oh, Danny, you'll make someone a wonderful wife someday."

He sat down across from me and began opening cartons, calling out their contents as best he could tell. When he muttered 'lizards gizzards', I knew that he'd found his favorite. I began opening cartons too; I shoved a small box of steamed rice in his direction receiving a grin as thanks. He was busy with one of the bowls I had placed on the table and was picking over the handful of chopsticks I had. He handled them as well as any native I'd seen. Where he picked up the skill I had no idea, he's never mentioned being stationed in Asia. Of course he could have learned stateside in one of the large cities. He is from Chicago. That's probably it.

As for the term 'lizards gizzards', I had asked him about it once, only to have him blanch alarmingly and excuse himself to the bathroom. His reaction shocked me greatly; he had always used the term almost fondly. When he returned to the table he didn't touch the Black Bean and Garlic Chicken again. In fact he avoided it for many months after that and I never bought up the subject again.

My Cashew Beef and Wonton Soup only appeared to hold my attention as I watched Jack eat. He can put away a sizable portion of food, but not as much as most men his size. As for the type of food he prefers, contrary to popular belief, beer and pizza is not a main staple to him. More like company food for when the rest of SG-1 or others from the SGC are around.

When it's just us, he eats very sensibly. Jack eats 'rabbit foot', i.e. salads, as he often calls them. He's not a health nut, nothing like that. He does like some strange things though. For instance, he actually likes potato chips without salt. I still find it hard to believe. Do you have any idea how hard those are to find? Well, take my word for it. It's hard. He prefers specialty chips, taro or sweet potato. That is only one of two reasons he'll go into a Health Food store, the other is vitamins. He only indulges in high fat food before missions, or while recovering from them.

Jack's very athletic, lifting weights is a given, although he has had to modify that over the last couple of years. It's too hard on his knees and back. He swims more, does a lot more low impact exercise. It allows him to get away with that beer and pizza when socializing. If he ate like that all the time, he'd never fit through the Gate.

Considering the way Jack looked when he walked in a beer would do him good right now.

Usually I keep a few for Jack; I get up and step into the kitchen to rummage in the fridge. Ah, there's one. Walking back to the table I thump the bottle down before him, only to receive an askance look from him for my efforts.

"You look like you could use one," I explain.

"Look _like_ or will _need_ one?"

His face takes on a serious dark look; he's referring to what I can tell him about Eric's sudden friends. I kick myself.

Darn it, Daniel, he was eating.

Even as I think it he places the chopsticks down across the bowl and pushes it away. His hand never strays towards the cold beer. He's all business now.

Sighing, I sit and resume eating; I for one am still hungry. So, between mouthfuls of food, I describe my visit with Lt. Roy. Jack listens with rapt attention, never once interrupting.

After I finish, Jack sits across the table from me thinking.

Finished with eating, I begin to clean up, picking up the cartons, tossing the empties, and closing the rest for storage in the refrigerator. The bowls go into the dishwasher and I hand-wash the utensils, including the chopsticks. Wiping down the table, I finish my 'wifely' duties.

Returning to my seat I see the beer is now open, and dangles from one long fingered hand hung over the back of my ladder-back chair. His dark amber eyes seem unfocused and downcast, as if staring through the floor to a great distance. That lean body askew in the chair, one long leg straight out before him while supporting the other ankle on that knee, deceptively relaxed.

Sitting down I prop my chin on my folded hands, elbows on the tabletop, and watch him think, just as un-relaxed as he is.

Several minutes pass. He raises the bottle and sips from it, he hardly moves as he regains his previous position. It's fascinating to see him like this, totally still, so deep in thought. And, I would love to be able to follow those thoughts, to see how his logic works, to be following along when he takes those alarming shortcuts he's capable of. Those shortcuts in logic that save lives.

Jack's eyes suddenly shift from the floor to focus sharply on me, startling me with their intensity. His left hand and the beer both thump the tabletop.

"I need to find those men, I have to know what's going on."

His voice has a desperate quality to it as Jack pulls his body round in the chair, both elbows now become firmly planted on the tabletop, his dropped head trapped beneath his hands, as he appears to be trying to tear his hair from the back of his head. I seldom see such a display of emotion from him, and I can't help but respond to it.

"Okay…how?"

Straightening, he stretches back against the chair, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling in further thought. He holds that uncomfortable stance for a beat, before relaxing and unclasps his hands from the back of his neck, allowing his eyes to meet mine again. His brief bleak look is painful to bear as those soulful eyes break away to seek solitude by staring at the tabletop. The same tabletop where he leans tiredly propped up by his elbows with his loosely grasped hands before him.

"I can't do it. Hammond's up to his eyeballs in the budget I can't abandon him for…"

"A hunch?"

His worried eyes snap up to mine.

"Yeah.

His eyes drop back to watch his hands unclasp to lie open, palms up as if in supplication. He's hit a bump that I should be able to help him with.

"I could do it."

"NO."

His voice is sharp and quick, he pulls his arms off the table and just as quickly returns them to toy with the beer bottle. A scathing look on appears on his face.

"Jack…" I put a little whine into his name, I'll wheedle if need be.

"Daniel, I said NO."

He emphasizes the last word as his glare in my direction deepens. His hands unconsciously show his agitation by clawing the label from the beer bottle.

"Jack, I can do this."

I try to display conviction in my eyes, holding his now black hooded ones with mine.

"Can't."

"Can."

"Can't."

"Can."

"Over your dead body maybe."

"What…?" Now where did he get that thought?

"Daniel, when was the last time you had your hearing checked?"

"Ah…"

"That was rhetorical and I don't want you getting hurt."

Pushing away the shreds of torn label, his action is a physical representation of his spoken attempt to dissuade me. He pushes back from the table slightly to lean back into the chair, resuming his former posture there.

"And how will that happen?" I ask indignantly.

"Those men were trying to intimidate, force was implied and the guy they're shielding is, well… doing bad stuff, really bad stuff. I don't think thumping on you would bother them."

He had been gazing off at the wall and waved one hand in the air while he spoke and not once did his eyes meet mine.

"Okay… I can't do it, actually you won't…"

"Daniel…"

"…And you can't do it. _Who_ can do it?"

"Therein lies the problem Danny me boy. I'm not sure."

"The General might be able to help."

"A. Too personal and B the budget."

"Sam?"

"Same reason as you and the General, well... except for the B part."

"Teal'c would be out, too conspicuous. Hey, how about that new guy in security?"

Jack forsakes the view of the wall and nails me with shocked eyes.

"Crap. 'Mr. I Want To Be Your Buddy?' "

"Jack, he's not that way at all. He's… well, he's kinda in awe of you."

"Excuse me?"

A loud thump tells me his ankle lost its grip on his leg allowing his foot to fall to the floor in his shock.

"Jack you _have_ saved Earth a couple of times, it's bound to happen. _Hero worship_."

He reddens and sputters, quickly grabs the now warm beer to gulp down the nearly flat liquor in a futile attempt to distract me from his reaction. Jack finds the idea that he is a hero totally alien. To him, it's a Team effort and he had little, if anything, to do with it, he was just along for the ride.

"Yes Jack. It happens and I would bet that Captain Cochran would move heaven and earth at your merest whim."

I find it hard not to chuckle as the flush on his face deepens and his eyes narrow as he thumps down the now useless empty beer bottle. He tries his best to give me a nasty look, but the flush works against it. I hold up open hands in surrender anyway

Jack crosses his arms and stares at the tabletop.

'Is he pouting?'

"I could ask him for you?" I try to catch his eye.

'He _is_ pouting.'

He looks at me from under lowered brows looking like a sulky little boy. Actually probably being, he's done it enough times. He can be such a child sometimes. Just a gawky 6'2" five year old with attitude.

"You would do that?"

Jack drops his head just enough to hide his now bright amber eyes, his emotions are running high as they always do when someone he considers a friend offers to help.

"Sure. You have nothing to lose if I do. Come on Jack let me do this for you. Please."

Never looking up, he asks.

"You're sure about this?"

"Positive."

"Well… okay, I'll let you try it. But, I'm going to come up with a plan B."

"That's alright Jack, but I don't think you'll need it."

I stand, taking the empty beer bottle with me and pause in the doorway to the kitchen.

"You want to watch a movie with me?"

"What ya got."

His body is still in sulk mode. I can hear his booted foot drawing circles on the tiles beneath the table. Just a big kid.

"Lawrence of Arabia."

That perks him up, his head comes up, eyes wide, not quite as amber, but still bright. A grin spreading across his face.

"Sweet!"

"Great, you know where everything is, if you'd like to get it started. I just need to start the dishwasher. Okay?"

Jack jumps up and steps into the next room on his errand, as I continue on mine.

My plan worked. I couldn't help it, I had to chuckle.

As soon as he asked to meet me here rather than at his house, I knew that I was being presented with a singular opportunity. Jack is obsessively focused on others, helping them, protecting them, and well... just being there. He forgets that he has needs, that maybe he should let others help him, protect him or just be there for him as he is for them. It just never crosses his mind. But, it does cross mine, and tonight I intend to be there for him.

I have already accomplished part of that, the painful and distressing part, related to helping him. And, I know that this problem will remain foremost in his mind, affecting his sleep, his appetite and his general outlook on the world. So, I decided that distracting him would break that cycle of chronic worry wart-itis.

It took me quite a while to hit upon the prefect distraction -- a movie. Not just any movie. Thinking back several months, I remembered being subjected to endless moaning regarding a particular movie. One he hadn't seen in ages.

It's rather funny, he likes old movies and I like new ones. Strange huh?

After some calling around, I'd finally found a local rental place that stocked the movie and had picked it up before coming home to wait for him.

Finishing in the kitchen, I joined Jack. Sprawling onto the love seat across from him, I leave him the whole couch. We're both using the far arms as backrests to better see the television at the other end of the couch.

Lawrence of Arabia is a long, long movie and is probably older than I am. But, I find it surprising good. Jack explains its historical significance, militarily, of course. I find myself engrossed in the movie and make plans on reading the 'Seven Pillars of Wisdom' by TE Lawrence. Jack says he's also a colonel, only in the Royal Air Force, doing that era's version of Special Ops. Jack also recommended the book. He says Lawrence wrote other books, but this one covers most everything.

Jack, being an extremely private person, does not enlighten me on himself often. Nevertheless, he lets slip little snippets like this. The books he's read, the music he likes and art he prefers are all safe subjects. Those he will grudgingly impart when the mood strikes him.

While busily being appalled during the scene that implies Lawrence was raped while a prisoner in Turkey, I glance over at Jack. He's slumped down in the corner of the couch; I peer across the darkened space between us intently. He's asleep.

Quickly hitting pause, I toss down the control and cross to him. With some effort, I ease him into a comfortable position. Pushing and pulling at his limp long-limbed body, I'm surprised that my gentle assault to provide him some comfort doesn't even change the cadence of his breathing. And with a sense of wonder, I realize that even in his sleep he recognizes me and offers his complete trust.

Finally I have him laid full length on the couch, his soft slow breaths stirring the air between us. Thank goodness I got the long couch; he'd never fit otherwise, I think as I pull the pull the Pendleton wool blanket off the back of the couch to drape it over him.

Crossing back to the love seat, I scrabble around for the control and hit play.

He may not want to watch the rest of the movie, but I do.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

My two fingers bound by tape slowly flex in the beam of light as I watch, their span of movement no more than an inch. They straighten and curl through that inch of space, shivering slightly, straining for more.

The movement of my fingers and hand are mirrored in the gloom beyond the light; flashes of lesser dark show the movement of tendons in my forearm, beaded with sweat. Beads become drips, which drop onto my bicep and leg below.

My sweat covered, straining body is pressed tightly into the cold painted concrete corner of the room. I focus intensely on forcing those two fingers into wider motion. I grit my teeth, not against the constant physical pain of their movement, but against the mental confusion I'm trying to drown with my exercise.

Curl. Straighten. Curl. Straighten.

Watching as tendons ripple and the sparkles of light in the dark attest to more erupting sweat, I moan quietly in pain.

Still, the fingers only span an inch in their movement

This lack of progress accurately reflects my stalled thoughts as I rigidly hide myself beyond the light.

I feel gusts of pride, love and duty sweep across the barb-wired no man's land of defeat and self-hatred that has taken root within.

Can these nobler winds erode quickly enough? Will they succeed in wasting the solid boulders of baser emotion I have built?

The answer I seek can be seen in the actions of these two fingers.

Stilling them, I allow them to drop down into the darkness. Fumbling there, I use them to feel the desired shape and I apply no conscious thought to their use to grasp. Surprisingly they constructively move through more than one inch of space, grasping the physical representation of my future. They clumsily bear the file into the light and I use my remaining eye to scan the instructions to resume my life on _my terms_.

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

'Shit, what the hell is this?'

All morning I've been here watching the office of one Dr Means, psychologist, getting a feel for the man's routine. Hoping that I would see his two cohorts in crime.

This whole case had started yesterday morning when Dr Daniel Jackson, archaeologist/linguist and member of SG-1 under the command of the SGC's esteemed 2IC, Colonel 'Jack' O'Neill, had contacted me via phone at my office indicating that the Colonel needed my help.

Considering who O'Neill is and how I felt about him, I hurriedly assented. Telling the Doctor that I would be available all day and would await the Colonel at his convenience. All the while during our conversation I had been checking my Outlook Calendar and had no other commitments for the day, and even if I had, I would have cleared them all for Colonel O'Neill.

I, Captain Isiah Cochran, considered the man to be America's greatest living hero. It was too bad that hardly anyone knew about him, but I did and would treat him accordingly

Less than 20 minutes after my phone conversation with Dr Jackson, there is a knock on my office door. Jumping up I yelled 'come,' smoothed my BDU's, and waited, nearly at attention, for Colonel O'Neill to step into the office. Breathless at the anticipation of meeting an honest to God American Hero. Yes, all caps. AMERICAN HERO.

Dr Jackson appeared in the doorway, he stepped in and _closed the door_.

No Colonel O'Neill?

My lower jaw rested somewhere on the floor. Losing the will to stand I drop into my desk chair deflated.

"Captain Cochran, uh…"

Shaking myself from my shocking disappointment I noted that the archeologist was visibly nervous, sliding his glasses higher on his nose and then pushing his fingers through he short light colored hair. He was dressed in the usual BDU's common to the SGC and was casting glances about my small office while seeming to seek words to continue.

Coldly I cut him off.

"I was under the impression that Colonel O'Neill was coming."

My voice held a righteous petulance and I liked it.

"I'm sorry… I hadn't meant to give that impression."

His tone was meek and apologetic, but in my opinion not nearly apologetic enough for the perceived deception that the Colonel would be here, instead of this civilian consultant. Nevertheless, I would be magnanimous; he is here at the behest of Colonel O'Neill. Not listening would be unthinkable.

"Unfortunately that was the impression that I had. I am vastly disappointed. Although I can understand that Colonel is busy man, and I would imagine he has a great many things on his mind. So, please tell me the particulars of the matter."

Leaning back into my executive chair I crossed my legs and placed my loosely folded hands beneath my chin to await the Colonel's words by proxy.

My wait wasn't long and Dr Jackson wasn't a linguist for nothing. The man wove his words well and gave me the lowdown on the whole case.

It seems that a young lieutenant was being somewhat brainwashed by a consultant psychologist and that two hardened men were strong-arming people who were trying to protect the young man. I assured Dr Jackson discovering the truth behind the whole heinous scenario would be child's play. After all, I'm from a long line, third generation mind you, of Private Investigators, and I myself had left the private sector to join Special Forces, giving my country the benefit of my experience and talent. He had nothing to fear and pressed him to tell Colonel O'Neill this also.

As the good Doctor was leaving, I warned him that I would be expecting to meet the Colonel in person soon, very soon.

That was yesterday.

Now some damned Bird Colonel just walked into the perp's office. I thought that I was the only one on the case.

This just pisses me off.

Using the telephoto, I had gotten a few frames of the Bird Colonel arriving, but no clear shots of his face.

All I could tell was he middle aged; black hair combed toward the back and tends to walk a bit bent-kneed. Not bowlegged, really kinda weird, like he leads with those knees. He moves languidly, calmly, no sudden moves. Kinda reminds me of a big bird.

Waiting, I leaned back into the faux leather of the van's seat and waited.

My wait wasn't long, the front door of the office was flung open and the Bird Colonel, with a brute of a man at each arm was carried out to the sidewalk and dropped, literally. Luckily the officer was able to land on his feet. His back was to me but I could tell he was talking a mile a minute, trying to get back though the door. One of the men in black planted a hand on the officer's chest and shoved. Staggering back for a moment, he calmly resumed his attempt to enter the premises. A shoving match ensued, well… actually the brutes shoved, the Bird Colonel doggingly and calmly kept trying to enter the office. One-track mind I guess.

Knowing those guys were going to lose patience I started the van, pulled out into the empty street, and screeched up next to them. I leaned across the seat and pushed the door open.

"Get in." I yelled at the officer, who turned to face me.

'Dr MacKenzie!'

"Get in, NOW."

He didn't get a chance; the other brute grabbed him and pushed him into the van. Once enough of him was inside, I floored it and left. I would have to get another vehicle to continue my surveillance. I drove a couple of blocks, pulled over, shut off the engine, and turned to Dr MacKenzie.

"Just what the Hell did you think you were doing?"

For a man who had been roughed up, he was remarkable calm and composed, unlike myself. Awaiting an answer, I huffed and puffed in my adrenaline pumped state.

He didn't say a word, just raised his hand and tapped that eagle on his shoulder.

'Shit, I totally forgot.'

Before I could start apologizing he opened the door and began walking back in the direction of Dr Mean's office.

Shit, he just doesn't have a clue; I jumped out and ran after him. Those guys will bounce him off the sidewalk if he goes back.

"Sir! Sir… I'm sorry, but you walked into my surveillance."

He stopped and turned. He looked me up and down, very slowly and deliberately. I felt as if I was just one of a dozen packages of hamburger being surveyed for purchase, then rejected in favor of a good cut of steak.

Hey! Who did he think he was?

I saw red. Well until my eyes fell on those eagles again. Oh, yeah, Bird Colonel to my Captain. Shit.

Opening my mouth, I began to work on my damage control but he quietly spoke first.

"For whom are you working?"

This guy had me suddenly feeling fourteen again and standing in the principle's office facing the music.

"Uh, Colonel O'Neill."

"I find that hard to believe."

"How come?"

"The man usually doesn't suffer the ill-suited."

Glancing down at my uniform I saw it fit fine, I have a cousin who gets them tailored for me, they have a terrific fit…

"I was _not_ referring to how you are dressed."

'Oh, that 'ill-suited.' ' Jeez, talk about a brain fart.

A mixture of embarrassment and anger had my face heating up and no sooner than I opened my mouth to retort… And, yes, I know what 'retort' means… than he resumed walking back to Means' office.

Hurrying after him, I knew that if he walked back into to that place now would queer the whole deal. I'd never find out who the players are.

Dancing around him, I tried to get his attention. He just ignored me.

"Hold on. Hey, if you go charging back in there you might scare them off. Then where will you be? Huh, huh, riddle me that."

He stops so abruptly that I bump into him, he lurches a step off balance, but he's not paying any attention to me.

Not news to me.

Then I notice he's watching something. Looking where he is, my eyes find and follow the dark car that cruises past us.

Hey! Those… those are the guys.

Frozen on the sidewalk, I staring dumbly at the car; too late, I remember 'license plate number.' Shit.

But the Doc, he turns and calmly walks back to my van. He climbs into the driver's side.

The roar of the starting engine gets me moving and sprinting to the passenger side I fling myself inside just as he begins to pull away.

**Dr MacKenzie**

This man talks like a cheap detective dime novel. How he got into the Air Force, let alone the SGC is beyond me. As for him being retained by Colonel O'Neill, well that beggars the mind.

I was so hoping I would be leaving him behind by absconding with his van.

But alas, no such luck.

Pulling out into traffic I accelerate rapidly, attempting to close the distance opened up by not anticipating the departure of the two 'goons' from Dr Means' office.

"Hey, don't get too close."

Oh, I was so hoping that he wouldn't be speaking.

"You get too close they'll see you."

Maybe if I ignore him he'll stop speaking. At least the man procured a vehicle with decent acceleration; he can't be totally inept.

"If they see you they'll rabbit."

'Rabbit?' Oh, I remember, as in losing a following car. Oh, that's not good; _I'm_ driving the following car. Maybe this cheap detective has a use after all.

"And just what would you suggest?"

"Hang back, keep a few cars between you and them. Just keep them in sight. We just want to go where they're going, not _stop_ them."

His words do _sound_ prudent, even if I don't appreciate his sarcastic tone in the least. Keeping the dark car in sight, I crease trying to catch up with it and flow with the traffic, watching for any changes of direction, I must admit that following them seemingly makes more sense then stopping them. Moreover, I had had little success reasoning with them earlier. Eventually, I may find out something through this more passive method of investigation.

Meanwhile, I need to engage my unwelcome passenger's attention elsewhere. I eye him briefly. He seems the type.

"Tell me about yourself."

Ah, right on the money, he begins talking nonstop, never slowing. Soon he is prattling on about himself as if he were the most fascinating thing under the sun. I tune him out and concentrate on following my quarry.

A trend in their direction becomes evident; they are heading for Petersen Air Force Base. Knowing their destination allows me to drop back further in traffic. This however turns out to be a slight miscalculation on my part.

"Hey… Hey, you'll lose them sitting this far back."

'Oh joy, he's speaking to me again.'

"I know where they are going."

Now I will be able to estimate his true intelligence by how long it takes him to reason out how I know. At least a mile goes by before he speaks again.

"You think they're going to Petersen, huh?"

Surprisingly, I'm impressed; I thought that it would take him much longer. I was convinced that he wouldn't catch on until we drove up to the gate at Petersen. Maybe his being in the Air Force is justified. No, no that's just too far fetched. Glancing at the passenger floor, I conceive a plan.

"Is that a camera?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"You might want to use it when we arrive at the Air Base."

"Oh… got ya. Surveillance."

I really need to get this man on my couch; just to see why he talks the way he does.

Go to: Chapter Five


	5. Chapter 5

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

The Bird Colonel catches on fast. _That_, I gotta admit. He followed these guys to their meet and even figured out where they were going before they got there.

When their car turned in at Peterson Air Base and he drove past I nearly panicked though. My head snapped around to watch their car stop at the gate before wrenching it back to MacKenzie.

"Hey…"

"Do you propose we expose ourselves by driving up behind them? You did say we didn't want to stop them."

"Yeah, I did, but…"

"All we have to do is see them, correct?"

"Yeah, that would…

"Will this do?"

He pulls the car across the road from the Base's fence, and up into a makeshift parking area.

Hey, I recognize this. Lots of people come here to watch the planes. It's higher than the fence and ignored by the guards, low security. You need binoculars or a telescope to see anything during the day, too far away for conventional weapons fire. Only a rocket would reach the buildings or landing strips from here and that would be noticed by the heavy military traffic along this road.

This Bird Colonel is one smart cookie, even if he doesn't have the slightest idea what he's doing.

"Perfect. Pictures right?"

He nods a yes; unlike me he's still watching the car. I pull the telephoto-equipped camera from between my feet, pop the cap and zero in on the gate.

Shit! No car!

A sudden tug on the heavy nose of the camera has me seeing a blurry dark streak, I steady the camera on the streak and it resolves into the car, which swiftly disappears again. I move the camera slightly back and forth to reacquire the car. There they are.

The road they're on I recognize, it leads to a landing strip that's strictly for non-military aircraft use. That road and the plane parking area are right across from us. This couldn't be better.

Blindly reaching behind my seat I grope for another item I always carry. While handing it to the Bird Colonel, I snap off a shot or two.

"Excellent."

At his one word comeback, I let a smirk build across my face, I hear him remove the binoculars from the case and assume he is using them to watch also. My eyes never leave the goons.

The dark car stops at the edge of the runway. Nothing stirs for nearly an hour. During that hour, I try to engage the Bird Colonel in conversation, but he ignores me. I've noticed he does that a lot.

Zeroed in on the car, I'm still waiting for them to make a move. This time, I've gotten the license plate number off the car using the telephoto. Suddenly my arm is whacked, hard.

Ow!

It takes a second to focus on my fellow officer across the van cab from me; I've been peering through that camera way too long. He looks unhappy as he waves a hand in front of my eyes, like he's checking if I'm blind or something. As my eyes start following his hand he uses it to point into the sky, then he jabs in that direction a few times when I don't immediately response.

"What the hell…"

"Plane."

He jabs his finger in the same direction again. I squint. I don't see anything?

"Too high, headlights."

Scanning lower in the sky, I, Oooh... _those_ headlights. They do seem a little high for a car and there wouldn't be any cars in that direction anyway. Bringing up the telephoto again, I center those lights in it and nearly get blinded. Thank God MacKenzie batted the camera down or I might have been. Thinking to thank him, I stop to reconsider when he starts shaking his head and tsk-ing. Acting like I haven't two brain cells to rub together in my whole head. Guys with PHD's behind their names can be so arrogant.

We both sit quietly and watch the plane land and taxi up to the car. The car door begins to open…

"Now."

"Now? Now, what?"

"Now would be the time to use that camera."

Oh, yeah…

XXX

Jeez the guy is just outside the door. He's been like a leech since Petersen. He actually reached across me and locked my door, and then he broke the button off. I thought, 'Ha!' Grabbing the door handle, I pumped it. Oops. Child safety regs. The door won't open from the inside without lifting the button. It's a really, really good idea, but it sure sucked right then. Oh, well, I guess I'll never get my deposit back now.

'The Doc is acting like my boss or… oh, yeah. Colonel to my Captain, I keep forgetting.'

Wham! Ow!

'Shit, feels like I ripped my leg in half or something.'

Damn it, can't they get some decent state of the art equipment, darkrooms are so passé these days. Maybe when the Colonel finally shows up he and I can discuss it.

'Ah, face it Isiah you'll be lucky to be able to breathe in the presence of that living legend.'

Snap.

'There, the film's in the solution.' Walking my invisible hand across the counter till I feel the lump of the timer, I thump it a few times until I can hear it ticking away.

'Yep, all the leads are being developed, right here, right now.'

For that one, I let loose a real chuckle. I crack me up.

Yep, the two guys we'd followed to Petersen stepped out of their car and stood waiting for the Lear to come to a smooth rest a couple dozen feet from them. I snapped a few long framing shots and a few close ones. Can never get enough close ups, makes good evidence. Might need those clear ID shots in court.

The plane's hatch swung up and the steps dropped to the ground, shiny black leather shoes appeared below expensive trousers, expanding rapidly upwards to reveal a matching suit coat. A red glint of a power tie below a pale face crowned with dark hair. Snapping off a few more frames, I mentally tick off just how much film I had left in the camera. Needing a good close up I suddenly notice the appearance of more shiny leathers on the plane's steps. Two more men followed the first, both in uniform. They gathered in a knot at the base of the steps.

Our guys walked over to them, standing with their backs to their bright car headlights and me. Jeez, like they read my mind or something. Three darkness paled faces shown in the viewfinder. I twisted the lenses to zoom in on each in turn, repeating the shots twice for each man. Bracketing insures I have at least one good shot.

Watching through the telephoto, I could see them speaking. Hell, why didn't I bring the camcorder, It's zoom is just a good as the camera in my hand, I could've recorded the conversation. Shit, now I'll have to just remember. Watching carefully, I see enough of their faces to read their lips and I impress each word I catch onto my mind.

This is something that MacKenzie need not know. This is my case and I will solve it. This information is mine and mine alone.

In their conversation the names 'Van Sickle' and 'Healing Device' were repeated enough for me to be absolutely sure that those where the words spoken. Lip reading is pretty hard close up for those with hearing and nearly impossible at such a distance. So I picked up only some of their conversation. What I did catch was pretty eye opening.

BUZZZZ!

In the dark, I drain the developer from the canister and pour in the fixer. I thump the timer again.

Jeez, I should've had prints by now. Going to a one-hour place would'a been faster. They could've sucked the film from its can, right through the machine and had nice double glossies before I could've gotten through a McDonalds's drive-up for coffee. Jeez, they would've even have put them on a CD for me.

The Bird Colonel wouldn't let me use the one-hour place though. Or the drive-up either. Who does he think…? Yeah, Colonel to my Captain. Crap!

He said that would be a breach of Security. Breach my ass! I am Security, wouldn't I know?

The Air Force is still in the dark ages with this darkroom.

Yeah, dark like watching those guys at Petersen I lost the thread of their conversation when the anger started. The guys from the plane started shouting and waving their arms. Our guys just took it.

'I've got to ditch the Doc. He's cramping my style. And _this_ is taking forever!'

I'll make two sets of prints, but he won't know about me digitizing a set and e-mailing copies to my office and Dr. Jackson. At least this dinosaur has a scanner and computer terminal.

Jeez!

**Dr MacKenzie**

Savoring my coffee, I review my evening.

Not my typical evening of a good meal, wine and excellent music. No reading of journals or files to review.

Such sacrifices must be made to redeem myself.

Like waiting.

Actually, I'm guarding the doorway, preventing that simpleton from escaping from my presence before I see the fruit of our joint labors.

This will be such a waste of effort if the man is not capable of taking decent photographs. All my time spent on prodding him to action for naught.

The man wanted to go to a public one-hour film processing service. How did he get into Security let alone become head of it? It's beyond my comprehension.

The photos will help identify the organization that is behind _that doctor_. There must be some 'agency' behind all of this, I'm sure of that. Especially after watching that conversation through the binoculars. Thank goodness, I had learned to read lips long ago. However, reading them at such a distance is extremely difficult, but I prevailed. Obtaining the names, 'Van Sickle' and 'Healing Device.'

To discover the link between those two names, I need to get into Means' office. Well, beyond the obvious of course. The young lieutenant was helped by the Tok'ra Selmac who wielded a Healing Device to repair what damage he could, that much I already know. But the conversation out on that dark airstrip implies a different kind of link.

Two military officers, a well dressed official and a private plane. Met by two hirelings at night. It reeks of the unofficial interest of someone in the official line of knowledge. Someone sees profit or power in the innocence of Colonel O'Neill's act of succor.

To go back to Means' office, unaccompanied, I need to occupy Captain Cochran with something

The answers I need will be there. That quack has got to be stupid enough to write it all down.

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

Have we sent a team to P3X-989? Is this another one of those copies? I thought Harlan promised not to do that anymore.

It's the only plausible explanation I can arrive at.

As this can't be the silent withdrawn young man that showed up at my office door a little less than a week ago.

Lt. Van Sickle can hardly sit still; his restlessness is causing me some concern. Is spontaneous combustion possible? Obviously his mind is somewhere else; he is anxious, excited and elated all at once.

Again, I check his dog tags.

This is not the young man described in Dr Means' files either. Not that I ever saw defeat or depression.

Now... Now, there is no more staring at the floor; gone is the lack of curiosity and expressions of emotion actually flash across his handsome young face. His green eye blazes with excitement. He exhibits the eagerness that puppies develop after discovering they can run. And, from the way his legs are bumping against the exam table he can hardly wait to sprint away.

One person and three distinct views of his mental state?

Over the last few days, his introverted outlook has taken a 360-degree shift and his physical condition has improved just as impressively. He looks good, his stamina is returning, he's gained six pounds, apparently all muscle. The puffiness around his face has finally subsided.

However, his hand… that is the wonder.

He can awkwardly flex those two joined fingers. Putting them to good use, actually picking up objects and using his palm in place of the nub left of his thumb. He has improved sensation, so much improvement. Not complete recovery by any means, but miraculous just the same. I foresee further improvement; having a purpose can work wonders.

"Dr Fraiser?"

"Lieutenant, you have just achieved your goal. I'll release you for limited off world duty under Colonel O'Neill's supervision."

His reaction is truly heartwarming; I can't help but smile.

"HOT DOG!" Rings through the Infirmary as he jumps off the exam table and into the air with a further whoop of joy. Yes, the Colonel's boy is ecstatic.

Heads poke out around curtains and though doorways, I see puzzled expressions on their faces. Even a worried looking SF sticks his head in from the hall. He smiles and disappears after I silently reassure him

"Ah, hmmm," I clear my throat loudly.

"Jeez, I'm sorry Dr Fraiser." Eric's face burned brightly but his smile never diminishes, so very different from a few days ago.

"It's okay, just wait until you're in the hallway next time."

"Yes, Ma'am. Can I go now? I have lots to do."

"Yes, we're all finished. I'll just need to see you before you depart for the standard pre-mission check. The Colonel will confirm when that will be."

"Thanks, Ma'am."

He scoots out of the Infirmary quicker than an eel down a greased chute. With a silly grin on my face, I shake my head in wonder. His attitude is infectious.

How the change was effected in him I really don't know, but I have a suspicion that the Colonel's responsible for it. Being unable to catch up with him at all about the troubling things I have discovered about Lt. Van Sickle convinces me of that suspicion.

Through the most peculiar circumstance, Dr MacKenzie chanced across a Captain from Security looking into what happened between the young lieutenant and Dr Means, so the Colonel does know something about what's going on. As to whether he knows that MacKenzie and his man have joined forces, I don't know.

Moreover, since the Colonel seems to be avoiding me, I won't know for a while yet.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

Poking as fast as my seven fingers can move across the keyboard, limping where once they flew, I realize that I have only a couple of hours before I have to present my selection of personnel to Colonel O'Neill. Typing is just another obstacle to work though. Puffing out a held breath, I backspace to type a word correctly, again.

Over the last few days, I've worked hard, using every spare moment to work on the pilot project.

Even infringing on the conditions that Dr Fraiser had set for my physical conditioning. Walking faster and longer and I even jogged when I could get away with it. Cheating recklessly, I snuck into the gym and lifted some light weights, just reps rather than pounds. Not being totally crazy, I was careful to eat right and get plenty of sleep. After all, if I didn't live up to the spirit of her rules, I'd leave the Colonel high and dry when she grounded me. And I wasn't going to let that happen.

I'd already let too much happen.

One sleepless night convinced me of that. How could I let some jerk shrink convince me that I'd brought the farm, or at least put money down on it? Getting me to dig my own grave and I was willing to lie in it too. All because someone told me that I had no future.

I'd let myself down.

The strange thing is that it wasn't the Colonel's manipulations that convinced me I had a future. It was Teal'c. His offer to help me adjust to my new limitations, that my lost eye and fingers were just inconveniences convinced me.

My brain works just fine thank you and I'm alive, I have another eye, a hand, and both legs that work. This loss I can work around, and besides, it's only a loss if I allow it to be.

They both showed me the only thing stopping me, was me.

Would I have ever arrived at this point on my own?

No, I really don't think so.

Therefore, the Colonel does play a big role in my revelations; he got me away from the negative influence of Dr Means and his goons. He may not have provided the argument that finally changed my mind, but he gave me the opportunity to hear it.

It's a mystery why Means did what he did, and I wish I knew why he did it. Never again will I let anyone tell me what I can or cannot do. Only I can decide that and if I can't do something, it wouldn't be from a lack of trying.

Of course, trying doesn't always work. I tried very hard to get my fingers to work, harder than I'd ever tried anything. It didn't work. Brute force isn't always the answer; sometimes brainpower is the only force needed. Knowing when you have to just let things happen can be the answer, don't dwell on it, just do it. That worked with my fingers, I didn't think about picking up that folder, I just did it. They worked because I didn't force them.

It's a lesson. Forcing something is not good. Like Dr Means forced me to see his view of my condition. From now on I need to remember to let things happen, not force them.

I'm already much happier and I intend to remain that way.

My new goal is to spread my new happiness. The first recipient will be Colonel O'Neill. My hard work on his project is a small part of that, setting everything up to let the project happen. All I need to do is get the right people together, show them what needs to be done, and let nature take its course. The project needn't be forced; I can just allow it to happen. Arranging the right circumstances is the key to success. See, I learned my lesson.

My hard work on the project is rewarding; freeing me from my self imposed depression, giving me a sense of accomplishment and worth that I have been missing since my foolish accident. I've discovered many interesting things as I dug around base records and the Internet finding out what I would need to convert the tunnels found on PBX 123, turning it into a viable mirror of the SGC.

The rudiments of running an operation had been taught to me, but nothing quite like this. Not knowing everything, or anything, I lacked experts to tell me what needed to be done. So, through a little research I found out which experts would be required. It was so easy to discover that I needed a geologist, a structural engineer, an electrical engineer, and probably an architect. That's just for the physical conversion of the tunnels. Additionally, I'll also need a botanist, a zoologist, and archaeologist.

At first that sounds kind of odd, two distinct groups, or more like three.

The archeologist will investigate the site, drawing out all of the information possible, providing answers to our questions. Maybe he'll be able to tell me why it was abandoned, that could have a direct bearing on us using the site. And why the planet possesses a Stargate that wasn't on the Ancient's list.

Not being on the Abydos list I can understand, the Goa'uld don't know the location of all the Gates. They had to discover each Gate on their own. However, the Ancients built the Gate system, they know where all of them are. It could be very important to discover why this planet isn't on their list.

The botanist and zoologist are important to determine if there is dangerous or beneficial plant or animal life on PBX 123. Especially if the SGC is forced to evacuate, they might conceivably be forced to live off the land and having certain knowledge of what one can or cannot eat would be crucial.

The geologist has a two-fold role. The soundness of the tunnels will need to be evaluated and working in conjunction with the structural engineer, he can determine what modifications are needed and what would be the best location for various parts of the new base. Providing a judgment of the stability of the planet and the surrounding area would be helpful too. Finding a reliable source of water and power production will be necessary.

The engineer and architect will be mainly concerned with the conversion of the tunnels to our use.

Having someone along to scope out the orbit of the planet and point out any possibilities of problems from space would be of great benefit. Meteor showers for instance, like the one that I had heard had stranded Colonel O'Neill on Edora for three months.

After careful consideration of the candidates for this venture, I believe that I have found just the right people and I am lucky enough to have them located nearby. Maybe not lucky, the deck was stacked; all of the files I had been given to go through were of people injured mainly right here at the SGC. The shear numbers lost due to injury every year is staggering. Even a major training base doesn't lose people this fast, only bases in conflict zones do.

Then again, the SGC is a conflict zone.

**Dr MacKenzie**

Before effectively 'ditching' Captain Cochran, I ordered him to hand over the negatives and copies of the photographs he took at Petersen Air Base. He colored a rather bright shade of red and blustered somewhat but he complied, he had little choice, unless he enjoys the stockade.

I did promise to see that a set got to Colonel O'Neill. I just didn't specify when.

Then I suggested that he stay away from those two ruffians. The man is so predictable. He took the bait like a hatchery trout to kibble, nearly digested before lips met again.

Now that the good Captain is wasting his time following Dr Means' 'goons', I can visit the quack's office.

Having the foresight to check a neighboring business, I acquired information on the habitual hours that Dr Means keeps at his office. For a paltry sum of cash, the proprietor informed me that the man keeps banker's hours. The charlatan never comes in early and never stays late. Perfect.

At dusk, I plan to return to that office and _rifle_ the files. Yes, rifle, that is the correct word.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

"Humph!"

Startled, I jerked my head up nearly braining myself with the magnifier. I had been using it to study an inscribed metal plate. Oh, that would have hurt. I glance at the open door, expecting to see Jack there.

"Captain Cochran."

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you like that."

At our last meeting, he had not been happy at all, so I had a feeling that he didn't mean what he just said. He was no doubt getting back at me for believing that I had deliberately mislead him into believing that Jack was the one he was to meet with.

He stepped into the room and began looking at everything closely, not touching, but he would stand very close bringing me to the brink of believing he was _about_ to touch something. I didn't think anyone could be worse than Jack, but Jack actually touched things, ending my suspense.

Standing, I tried to get between him and the artifacts arranged around my office.

"Is there something I can do for you Captain?"

"I'm not sure. However, there is something I can do for you, or at least for Colonel O'Neill."

He stopped and I nearly fainted when he reached out and touched my computer screen -- not an artifact.

Darn, the things that I do for Jack.

"Yes… and that would be?"

He reached out to my computer screen again and tapped it.

"Have you checked your e-mail lately?"

"Ah… No. Why?"

"You should have mail as I e-mailed you some photographs… interesting photographs."

His smug expression warned me that I would probably have to pull every iota of information from him. No doubt under force of siccing Jack on him. Ah… no, that would really work for him, not me and especially not for Jack. Deciding to indulge the man, I smiled. Maybe he would crack and give something up willingly. Moments like this always cause me to wonder just why SG-1 never bothered to acquire a pain stick.

"Should I check it right now?"

He nodded and I sat down and opened up the intra-base flash mail system. There, just like he said was an e-mail from him, with multiple attachments. Highlighting all of the attachments, I clicked them open. They rapidly begin to display as large thumbnails across my screen.

"Wow! That's impressive, my computer can't do that. What kind of program do you have in there? I have to open attachments one at a time. Can I borrow your copy? This would come in real handy in my line of work."

During his barrage of words, he moved so close to me that he was practically standing on me, getting as close to the screen as possible.

"I…"

"Here, this one, blow it up." He impatiently tapped one of the lower thumbnails. Once I clicked on it, it expanded across the screen until it filled half of it, pushing the now reduced thumbnails to the bottom.

"How's…"

"Great, great. Jeez, I really would like to have a copy of this program. Now this guy here is the main character in our little drama. Don't know who he is yet, but I really haven't looked either. Now, this one."

"Okay," I complied.

"This guy came with the suit, he's an officer and I think the suit is some kind of spook from some government agency. This one."

Yielding, I expanded the indicated thumbnail.

"He was with the other two, another officer. They all arrived on a Lear that landed at Petersen. At night yet. Mysterious, isn't it."

He turned to smirk at me, nodding as if he expected me to agree. Not knowing who all of these people were, I was a little confused.

"They are connected to Dr Means -- how?"

Now he looked confused, then smiled knowingly.

"Right." He pulled the word out. "I followed Dr. Means' muscle. Here."

He tapped another photo, which I expanded.

"Muscle?" I raised my eyebrows, widening my eyes and tried to look innocently ignorant. It worked with a vengeance.

"Oh, sorry Doc. Muscle, as in these guys work for Dr Means, like aggressive body guards. Only worse."

He treated me to a lengthy and colorful narrative of his apparently daring exploits on Jack's behalf. Totally dwarfing Jack's best efforts to drown me in the spoken word, Captain Cochran took that tactic to rarified heights of which even I never dreamed were possible.

He did make it clear that what was going on with Lt. Van Sickle wasn't just stumbling across an unprofessional therapist, but a conspiracy involving the military, subtly echoing Jack's earlier fears. Fears that may be truer than anyone has realized. I do not intend to tell everything to Jack because of this. He has been hurt too much in the past by such people. No, before informing him, I will find out exactly what is going on. I want to spare him as much as possible; he has too much to deal with right now.

He is desperately trying to salvage Eric's life and hopefully doing so will bring a little brightness into his own. Neither of them needs this additional complication.

Captain Cochran will be continuing his investigation and I can take the photographs and work on discovering who these people really are and maybe a connection can be found.

Since the majority of the new actors in the drama are military, I'll need help identifying them. Cochran will be working towards that end, but I'm sure that Cochran is keeping something from me. So to insure that I'm getting all the information, I will need to have someone else working on the identification too. Only who?

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Drumming my fingers on my desktop, I'm nervous as hell.

In just a few minutes, Lt. Van Sickle will walk into this office with a mission plan. Sink or swim time, for both of us.

God, I hate this kind of stuff. To see him fail, seeing such promise die. That's one thing I don't want to see. It would really hurt both of us.

It's possible that he'll just give up; his attitude last time that we talked was so defeatist.

Did I give him enough time to turn his thinking around? Did I give him enough reason to? Did I do the right thing?

Or, is this, like he said, just about my guilt? God, I hope not!

Damn, it's just so confusing sometimes. Could I have totally misread the kid the first time I met him?

No! He's a survivor. I've got to quit doubting my decision.

No matter how this meeting turns out, I am going to find out how anyone got that close to one of our own with such intentional malice.

Daniel tells me that Captain Cochran is working on finding out just what is going on with Dr Means, but he didn't have any actual information. Damn, I had hoped for something, anything, even if it's just a direction to go in. Hard evidence is what I need, clearly proving what had been done to the kid, the kind of hell he went though. Anything that would prevent it from happening to anyone else would help.

Why did I let Daniel take this on? And just how did he talk me into it? Sometimes I find it difficult to refuse him. Danny is a lot like Charlie that way, twisting me around his little finger. When faced with those wide hopeful pleading eyes I can be so spineless. What father could resist that?

I'm surprised by that last thought. I think of Danny as a son? Well, I guess that isn't that strange, I think of all of these young kids coming into the SGC in a fatherly sort of way, someone has to watch out for them.

'Face it O'Neill you miss Charlie so much you see him in every youngster you come across.'

Well, let's think about something else shall we?

Okay, but the only good thing that's happened this week is that Hammond and I have finally whipped the budget into presentation shape. Ironclad, presentation shape, those pencil pushers would have to be insane to deny anything there.

Who am I kidding, they _are_ insane and totally clueless, Hammond winds up fighting for a lot of the budget every year.

The knock on the door wipes budgetary concerns from my mind, and just about every other thought too. Kicking my brain back into gear I yell, 'come.'

This time I watch him come in, he walks up to the front of my desk and salutes, and I return it without standing. I indicate a chair; he sits placing a handful of files in his lap. He looks better. He also looks nervous, just as nervous as I feel.

I smile.

He smiles back, just a tentative smile, but it's a start. Holding my smile, I wait.

Oh, I guess I should say something. Lieutenants don't usually begin conversations with colonels.

"Lieutenant what do you have for me?"

'Brilliant opening O'Neill.'

"Sir."

He hands me a folder, his overall mission plan. Opening it I sink back into my chair and start reading. It's well lain out, concise, very to the point. Just the way I like 'em. I hate a lot of rhetoric.

The kid sits stiffly in the chair watching me read, all very correct. What did ya expect O'Neill? That he'd be tickled pink with the way you handled him the last time he was here? Something must have gone right because what I've seen of his work on the project is excellent.

He recommends a five to eight day mission, contingent on the availability of personnel; I like what I see and wonder who he's rounded up.

"Personnel?"

"Here, Sir."

With an assurance he lacked at our last meeting, he hands me eight more folders. Each labeled with name, rank and specialty. Picking up the first one, I read the name.

"Sgt. MacDowell, electrical engineer. Give me the short story."

Resting my elbows on the chair arms, I straighten in my seat and lace my fingers together, giving him my full attention.

"Formally of the SGC, highly recommended by Sgt. Siler. Lost left arm from the elbow down nearly a year ago when General Bauer headed the SGC."

Yeah, I remember something about that… At the time I was more concerned with what was going on with George, there had been some serious accidents in the SGC because of the idiot Bauer.

Unclasping my hands, I reached out to pick up the next folder, glancing at it briefly. The kid gave such a short answer on the last one I think I'll let him fill me in, later I'll read the folders to get the whole story.

"Major Drake, structural engineer. Experience?"

"Worked on the refit two years ago of Cheyenne Mountain, injured six months ago in a wall collapse at Offutt, lost lower left leg. Placed on the disabled list two days before scheduled promotion to light colonel."

"Damn, that's rude," I bark out harshly, startling the kid who gives me an abashed look. Hurriedly, I go on to the next folder. "Captain Ellis?"

"Geologist, knee brace, fall from a cliff while assigned to SG-15."

My mind dredges up the background, I really felt bad about letting that one go, that could have so easily been me. What with the bad knee already, a brace in my future could be more than sheer chance. I open the next folder.

"Captain Everett?"

"Xeno-botanist, nerve damage left shoulder, spear thrust, formally assigned to SG-17."

Janet was sorry to lose that one. She swore that discoveries of new curative plants dwindled down to nothing after that accident.

"Lt. Wong?"

"Xeno-biologist, lost right hand, attacked by indigenous animal while assigned to SG-15."

What's with SG-15, are they jinxed or something. Oy!

"Brent?"

"Civilian, some kind of genetic disease causing palsy. Brent's retired and needs to be recalled. Major Carter says it won't be a problem. Astronomer, specialty, orbital dynamics."

If Carter says okay, it's okay. I don't know this next one at all.

"Captain Iron Horse."

"Architect, worked on Cheyenne Mountain refit also, lost right arm in a car accident."

"And Kent?"

"Dr Jackson recommended him, Archeologist and linguist. Cancer, currently in remission."

"I remember, refused a Tok'ra symbiote. I liked… like that. But I do have one question?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do you have problem with female personnel?"

Now that got a reaction from him, he blushed hotly before an angry look crossed his face. Welcoming the emotion he's giving me I grin at him and wait for what should prove to be an interesting explanation.

"What…? I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand."

He's trying so hard to be calm about this.

"Your selection of personnel is heavily weighted towards one sex, why is that?"

Evilly I throw a little iron in my voice, losing the grin for effect, just to rattle him a bit.

"Ah, oh… Well, it's just the way it worked out. Sir."

He's retreating into protocol, emphasizing our rank difference. The hard ass colonel act is a bit much; I need to back down a notch. Putting on an innocent face, I ask a slightly different question.

"Then one sex is more prone to injury than the other?"

"That's correct, Sir. Only this group is not representative of that trend. Males represent 85 of those released through injury. Our group is mainly female, even when adjusting for males being the largest percentage in the SGC, females hold the lowest injury percentage by half."

"So, the women have the best credentials?"

And why not, they have to work so much harder to be taken seriously. Women aren't better or worse than men, just different. When will the rest of the military realize this?

"Yes, sir. Is that bad?"

"Hell no, women are great. I like women; I've even grown to like women scientists. Actually, I've grown to like certain scientists regardless of their gender. You've done an excellent job of picking your team."

To show my pleasure at a job well done, I allow my face and eyes to openly show it, giving him my best tooth-filled smile.

"Thank you Sir."

His crooked grin lightens my mood considerably and I want to include him in it.

"Lose the Sir. At least when we're alone, you sound like Carter."

I grin hugely at him, daring him to grin back.

"Yes, Si…"

"Ack…"

I chuckle and wave an admonishing finger at him. He smiles and ducks his head in embarrassment as he utters his choice.

"Colonel?"

"Sweet."

The kid is relaxing. Back to business.

"I gather you have a preliminary list of requested equipment?"

"Right here Colonel."

The kid's still smiling, glancing into the folder I lose mine fast.

"A Naquadah reactor!"

'Shit!' Carter will blow a gasket. No way is she letting one of her children out of her sight. Glancing at the kid, I realize I scared him. Double shit! Stunned at my blunder I watch him begin to speak.

"Yes, sir…Colonel. Major Carter has a new model she'd like field-tested and has made it available for our use. She's offered to personally train Sgt. MacDowell. Sgt. Siler indicated that MacDowell has experience with the previous two models. It seems a safer solution than a gas generator involving volatile, hard to transport fuel. A lot smaller too."

An explanation! A good one. Pride swells in my chest for the kid, I'd scared him, but he kept his head and explained. Now this is the gutsy kid I remember.

"Good point, just kinda startled me there. Ah… from the amount of electrical wire you intend to put up a few lights."

Grinning sheepishly at him I offer an unspoken plea for forgiveness and receive that crooked grin again. Bonus points! I see a little laughter in that moss green eye of his. I'm relieved. I thought I blew it.

"Yes, those tunnels are dark, light will give us more time to do things right -- safely."

"You even have electrical cooking units, who's going to cook?"

"Everyone on a team pitches in and Teal'c says you make excellent omelets."

Damn, he's pitching it back at me now. I like this kid, so I kick back to enjoy the friendly exchange.

"Yeah, but not from powdered eggs I don't. Teal'c talks too much, have you noticed that?"

He gets the best confused look I've seen since Daniel first saw Sha're.

"Ah, not yet."

Spontaneously, I actually chuckle at his reaction; such a look of disbelief crosses his face.

"Okay, so far so good. Defense?"

He holds up his final folder. He looks a little uncertain about it's reception.

"A proposal, I believe that the team can provide it's own defense, most are from SG Team units, trained in weapons use. However, I intend to run them through the firing range for re-certification. Just to be on the safe side."

Taking the folder, I scan it quickly, liking what I see and I let it show on my face. His relief is instantaneous.

"Lieutenant you've done an excellent job, better than I could do. For missions like this, I'm a little too old-military. Thank you, you've make this pilot project possible."

Pouring my pleasure at his achievement into my words, I smile openly; he looks a little stunned and drops his head to hide his reaction. His head doesn't stay down long, and when he faces me again, gone is the little boy grin of a moment ago. In its place is a serious, guileless expression that I find difficult to interpret. That expression drowns my playful mood like ice water on a hot skillet. Through the confusing steam, I am drawn by the sound of his voice.

"Colonel, I need to apologize for… well… Ah, our last conversation. And to thank you for your confidence in me."

The sincerity in those words puts my attempt at emotional openness to shame. My guilt rises unbidden; I quickly squash it down, now is not the time. Only Eric's feelings matter in this meeting, building his confidence is my only concern here. Dragging him from that dark place I dwell in too often.

"No need to apologize, I should be the one doing that, I was rough on you, but I needed you to see that I had faith in you. My intention was to shock you out of your lack of belief in yourself and it appears to have worked. That's all I care about, that you have your confidence back."

"My allowing myself to get that way, I feel like such a fool for that. And you went to all that trouble for me, I really don't see why?"

"Like I said before, you're a rare commodity. And, having experienced a similar period in my own life, I wanted to help you. As children, we're taught to trust those in authority. Life teaches us to question, but sometimes not soon enough. And, you should know that I have instigated an informal investigation into what happened to you during your counseling. Hopefully, this will lead to an official inquiry. This should never have happened and for that, I'm sorry. If I'd paid more attention to you after you left the SGC, I might have been able to prevent what happened."

"Colonel, I wish that you had kept tabs on me, but I'm sure that what happened would have happened anyway. All you might have been able to do would be to catch on quicker and put a stop to it sooner. But, there is no way that you or anyone could have known what Dr Means planned to do, that's just impossible. I'm just glad that you're here now."

"Fraiser is looking into a new counselor for you, someone who can help you work out what Means tried to do. I won't force you to go, but she will want you to go. You can trust whom she recommends. Just consider it, there's no rush. If you need to talk, I'm here. And, I'm sure that Fraiser, Major Carter, Dr Jackson and even Teal'c would gladly listen too."

At the mention of a new counselor he stiffens and nearly blanks his face. He relaxes as I assure him that he will not be forced. This young man has been through enough without having good intentions shoved down his throat. I _so_ relate to his feelings on this.

"Well…"

"You don't even have to talk about it. Sometimes just talking about nothing to a living breathing person can help. Teal'c would love it. He found you fascinating. He's also itching to get you out onto a training mat, he sees potential in you. You do know that his offer is sincere don't you?"

Hopefully, he'll take one of us up on the talking. There have been many times in the past that just being in the room with one of my team made going on easier than giving up. All of them would like to get to know him better, I'm sure. And I have a selfish reason, I want him to stick around, I find that his presence fills a need in me that I wasn't aware of.

"Thank you, I'll think about the talk and Teal'c's offer. I find him 'fascinating' too. Everyone here has been so helpful, like a family."

"Yep, family. And like a family we help each other."

XXX

As the kid leaves my office, I feel a swell of pride; he is what I imagine my son would have been.

A stab of pain flares through my heart; I bow my head and ask forgiveness for my betrayal of Charlie's memory.

Looking for his replacement can't be right, but then what is Daniel to me? And Eric is becoming close too, feelings that I have only had with Charlie are being awakened in me and Eric is the source and focus of them.

Am I betraying Charlie by allowing such feelings to surface?

God! I hope not.

Go to: Chapter Six


	6. Chapter 6

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Captain Cochran and I have just discussed the investigation. He had little to offer.

'I'm still working on it.'

'These things take time.'

His words are meant to be reassuring and I agree with what he says. But I had the strangest feeling he wasn't telling me everything, I couldn't put my finger on just what it was, but he seemed to hedge a bit here and there. Maybe I'm imagining it?

Searching for Jack, I found him as he was leaving the Control Room.

"Trouble?"

He shortens his stride as I ask my question, accommodating mine automatically. Showing me once more just how different he is from most people, different from those who would expect me to lengthen mine or walk faster.

"Naw, just a computer glitch."

"Got Sam to handle it?"

"Nope, wasn't that big of a glitch. You know me and computers."

Yes, I did. On the surface, he is totally inept with them, that's all show and just another facet of the facade he projects. If the Control Room is looking for help, they need expert help and Jack's pretended level of knowledge would be woefully inadequate. None of the techs are actually fooled by Jack's act. Oh, they go along with it, but I've heard them whisper about his late night visits and the tricks they've all learned from him. Yes, from him, not the other way around. It's a secret that they keep well. After all, they are supposed to be the experts.

Sam is probably the only one who knows more about the base computer than Jack does. And, she has confided in me that she's not even sure what he's done to them. Complaining that he's too subtle to track though the system. Both of us think its part of his Special Ops training. He keeps his talents from those days strictly under wraps.

Sometimes I find Jack's 'dumb' act infuriating, I hate to think people perceive him as… well, stupid.

Sam and I are geniuses, certifiable ones. That may sound egotistical, but it's true. Separately we should be able to outthink Jack. Yet, together even we can't do that. While Sam and I are wading though minutiae, he's already mapped out a plan of attack. His ability to reduce complex problems to their simplest basics in the blink of an eye lets him do what neither of us can.

Oh sure, he doesn't have my or Sam's knowledge, and that can and does slow him down. However, when he's given the information he needs, he then retains it and can easily regurgitate it at will. Even so, he spends a great deal of time pretending he hasn't the faintest idea about the subject.

I'm positive he has a photographic memory.

There are small proofs of it if you look. For example, when we were wearing the Atoniek armbands and he read that book really, really fast. And I, in my frustration at not being able to duplicate that trick, asked him that question about it to test his retention. He slipped up. He repeated word for word what was printed in the book. I checked. Of course, the armbands might have something to do with that, but he gives too many clues that say otherwise. There doesn't seem to be any kind of time limit on his retention of information either. What Sam or I have told him no matter how long ago he heard it, he can produce it. I've caught him unawares enough times, he just spits out the correct answer, and usually an answer I would have to look up. He only chooses not to remember.

Jack possessing an eidetic memory explains his nightmares and reluctance to discuss the horrific events of his life.

_He remembers it all._

Most people tend to forget over time, but he doesn't, each event is as fresh and clear as the second it happened. It would be better for him if he didn't have this ability, but then Jack wouldn't be… Jack. To me, that would be far worse.

Still, I wonder just how Jack can stand to have people think of him as being a little on the dense side. He either has no ego at all or is so confident and comfortable in his own abilities as to not give a hoot what anyone thinks. I like to think he's simply confident.

"Simple problem huh?"

"Yep, _very_ simple."

"Jack, do you have a little time to discuss what Captain Cochran has found so far?"

"Yeah, let's go to my office. Okay?"

Following my friend, I eventually wind up sitting in his chair behind his desk as I convey what Captain Cochran had to say about the investigation so far. During the telling Jack was… well, he was a little angry about the lack of information. Not an obvious anger. He was doing those little things that he does when annoyed, like rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his hand across the back of his neck or face. But I felt there was more than just annoyance here.  
Jack didn't seem to be giving me all of his attention or typically fiddling with something; his pacing or bouncing in place was missing. He was a little preoccupied and displayed an odd restlessness. 

"Jack, what's wrong?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

He looks at me from the wrong side of his own desk, sitting on the very edge of one of those massive wooden chairs and leaning over the floor, elbows propped on his knees. The pose is so uncharacteristic of him. He spreads his fingers at my assessing stare and flips his arms out in a show of 'huh?' Pushing up my glasses, I decide to get serious about finding out what is bothering him. It can't be what we're discussing; all of his reactions were in the wrong places for that. He reacted to the sound of a certain name -- every time.

"You get this strange look when you talk about Eric?"

"Don't"

"Do."

"Don't you have anything better to do than pry stuff out of me?"

He abruptly stands and begins to pace before the desk, just a couple steps, back and forth. His hands are shoved into his pockets, head down watching his boots. His behavior screams to me that he is reluctant to voice his concerns -- to anyone.

"Well… no. Besides it's good for you."

He shoots me a nasty glare, slowing his pace across the office. In a low growl, he answers.

"I think you enjoy this way too much."

I grin at his discomfort; we know each other so well. And, being that familiar with him, I know that he has just conceded defeat, giving me his unspoken promise to speak of his inner thoughts. I make it official.

"Give."

"Okay, okay. I've been… ah, having some feelings surface lately."

At this admission, he stops to face the wall; his back is partially to me. My stomach goes cold with dread. Is this about that 'resonance' he mentioned that night on his deck? I reluctantly ask.

"Such as…?"

"Kinda… nurturing ones."

My complex friend doesn't move, apparently fascinated by the wall before him. His words take more time than they should to sink in and even more time for me to feel relief once I comprehend them. A kind of euphoria suffuses me at his worry over such a little thing. I jerk myself up short at that thought, to Jack; this is not 'such a little thing.' This is a BIG thing to him and I need to keep that in mind. However, I still find his trepidation amusing.

"Jack, you have those every time you go near one of the Cadets… Oh, Cadets… like Eric. You have feelings for Eric don't you?"

"Jeez, Daniel, you make me sound like a dirty old man."

He swings around to bark that out at me, looking very unhappy. His eyes are dark and hard, missing are their usual flashes of amber.

"And this makes you feel…" I take a guess. "...Bad. Why?"

"How do you feel when you're attracted to a woman?"

What! Darn, what is he talking about? Oh, wait, nah, not possible.

How do I feel?

I felt incredibly guilty after Shyla, but that was the sarcophagus. I felt guilty after Ke'ra, but she was a mass murderer. I feel guilty about _thinking_ about Anise since she's actually interested in Jack. Maybe I felt guilty because I also felt like I was _betraying_ Sha're.

That's it. Jack feels he's betraying Charlie, Darn! This is not good.

I look across the desk to a man who is more than friend, more than brother, more than father even. He is my safe haven in a world gone insane.

Where does he find his safety?

Sometimes in me, occasionally in his friendship with Sam and at times in his ability to relax with Teal'c at his back. Where does he go for that emotional recharge that I can only rarely give him?

Nowhere -- he has no one.

Well… except for us. SG-1. We're closer to each other than anyone I've ever seen, but not quite that way. His son is dead; his wife has left him.

So, even among his loving friends -- he is alone.

Jack is gregarious, with a loving heart, which barely beats from lack of the unconditional love it craves. The love of a child, a mate, of a real family. I know this because I feel it too. Sam probably does in a lesser degree as she still has some family. Teal'c knows even less, he has a child and wife whom he visits at every opportunity.

Going home.

When Jack goes home, even to the cabin, it is empty. Well, not exactly empty, each is filled with the memories of when he had a child, a wife. Those very clear memories he can never forget or forgive.

My memories of Sha're and our one year of bliss on Abydos still sears my soul with longing, regret and loneliness. What must Jack feel? He had Charlie for ten years and was married even longer. Going home must be the most horrific agony I can imagine.

Having the love of three people who would die to protect him cannot replace the love lost in his life.

Even if he allowed it, how many lesser loves would it take to fill the void in his heart and soul?

That's the problem; he feels that allowing the 'lesser loves' cheapens the memories of those that were lost. Doesn't he realize that's impossible, that new links to his heart can only enhance the old, never diminish them?

"To think of another woman would be betrayal... I would feel like I was cheapening what Sha're and I had."

Jack is staring at the floor, blocking out the world that so cruelly reminds him of his loss.

"Jack…"

"Yes Daniel."

"How does it make you feel when you have feelings for me?"

His gaze snaps up abruptly revealing amber eyes so dark that they're black, like polished coal. Immediately, his hand scrubs over his face to hide his pain from me. He won't look at me. I know this. It's just his way of limiting the emotion he knows he'll feel when he speaks about such things.

"I… I feel proud… pissed on occasion… scared as hell… frustrated…"

"Love?"

His eyes suddenly reappear, brightly burning into me.

"Yeah… Yeah that too."

Not once does he look away, the force of that admission, causes my heart to skip a beat. Slowly I smile and then cringe inwardly as I notice the shimmer in his eyes before they return to study the floor again.

"I'm glad that you do, really. But does that love you hold for me diminish your love for Charlie?"

While thinking I know what his answer will be, I hold my breath in anticipation of it, but with Jack, you can never be sure. Even knowing as much as I do about what he'll do and how he'll react, he can still throw me for a loop. Not just occasionally, but constantly. He's a very well known unknown.

His booted toe starts drawing little circles on the floor, he's thinking and thinking hard.

Seconds drag into minutes.

Slumping in the chair, my hope for a resolution to Jack's little emotional dilemma begins to blossom into the realization that he's probably going to choose denial as his coping mechanism. It just hurts too much for him, so why acknowledge it at all? Feeling an ache start in…

"No."

What? Since I seemed have been studying my hands rather than looking at my friend, I glance up.

My eyes lock with Jack's intensely alive and horribly revealing eyes. Seldom are his emotions so clearly written in those windows to his soul and I've been drifting while he struggled to express his emotions at _my_ insistence. Damn!

A smile erupts across his face, to be reflected in those suddenly expressive eyes of his. The rare amber color burning with a love and mirth that stuns me. I begin grinning like an idiot at him.

"Caught ya nappin?"

"Ah… yes."

"It did take me a while, but 'no'. What I feel for you doesn't diminish what I felt… feel for Charlie. Actually, I kinda think it… Uh, this'll sound terrible… but I think it shows me what I've lost better."

What Jack saw on my face, I don't exactly know. As for what I felt, I'm not really sure, except for a dusky desolation at his words. His reaction gave me a clue.

"Danny." Jack's voice is soft as his hand reaches for me. "You know me. I'm so bad at telling anyone about how I feel."

His eyes scrutinize my face, concern and guilt slowly shows on Jack's face. The pain I must have just caused him causes me to shudder. My pain is so minor compared to his forever wounded heart. My petty pain flashes into shame before the enormity of his. My mistake was to let this transformation show on my face.

"Don't do that! I didn't mean what I said was bad. It's just… different. What I feel for you is close to what I had for Charlie. But, it's not the same, it doesn't… well, try to take away from my love for Charlie. It kinda protects it. Keeps it burning. Am I making any sense here?"

A desperate Jack is a humbling sight; I hasten to reassure him that I do indeed understand. Anything to kill the desperation this man rarely shows.

"Yes, I do understand. I do Jack. I loved my parents deeply, but I think of you as my second family. A brother, a father even, what I feel for you lies like a shell of protection over my love for my parents. I'm deeply grateful for having you in my life."

A warmth surges outward from my heart, Jack is so important to me and I'm gratified by his reaction to my words. His eyes dim a bit, a little grin grows and his mask begins to reappear. He's gaining control. Becoming Jack once more. Inside I heave a sigh of relief for these signs of normalcy.

"That's good Danny. I think I see what you've been driving at. My fatherly feelings towards these kids aren't an insult to Charlie's memory. More of a celebration of it. There's no reason for me to feel guilty for passing on what I held for my son to others that can use it. Charlie's legacy will live on in them."

"Yes! Charlie's legacy. All those kids you've helped and will help. A living monument to the love that existed between you. Exactly."

He chuckles softly at my exuberant words and I smile happily at the lifting of guilt the revelation has allowed him.

"You're still the best shrink I've ever had."

He squeezes my hand in his; how they came to be joined I have no idea… actually, just not much of one. As much as Jack does, I would bet he's wondering the same thing.

With a self-conscious movement we both break contact, ginning foolish at one another, hoping to hide our mutual embarrassment at such an intimate sharing of our inner selves.

Now the door is open for Jack. He can let out those feelings without the guilt eating at him. He has so much love to give and so little opportunity anymore to give it. For five years he has nurtured Sam, Teal'c and I to the point that further nurturing isn't possible any more.

He's suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome and doesn't know it. Eric can fill that nest for a while; both will benefit greatly from it.

But, will Eric permit it?

**Teal'c**

"O'Neill."

My brother starts at my words, a rarity. It would seem that the papers laid out across his desk consume his attention. Wishing to know what can cause such a warrior to leave himself vulnerable to attack, I forego the ritual of an invitation. Striding across the room, I stand close enough to view these papers that so endanger one I hold as close as blood family.

"Teal'c..." O'Neill hesitates, glancing back down to the papers before him before bringing his eyes to mine. "I... didn't hear you."

"Indeed. You were _distracted_."

Having learned much of my friend, I read the lack of comprehension upon his face. Fleeting as it was, it was rapidly replaced with an expression I have since learned means a type of regret known as 'chagrin.' An acknowledgement of catching him unprepared on his home ground, a grave tactical mistake my friend would not normally have committed, unless a problem of great import held him enthralled.

"Yeah, ya could say that, I'm human Teal'c."

"A human who is Tau'ri and therefore legend."

"Duh! Teal'c I'm just a man. Not a hero, legend, 24/7 super warrior or a god. Just a man -- fallible. _Distractible_."

Typically, O'Neill punctuates this entirely untrue statement with loud words of denial, arm waving and rolling of eyes. Why he persists in denying his true nature baffles me. It is evident that he is a man. I myself have witnessed his acts proving him a hero. To I, and other Jaffa, Tau'ri are legend. And, it has been my privilege to have personally stood at his back in battle; he is truly a great warrior. As to being a god, I have seen him with children, this may not be an accurate label, but to their innocent minds, there is no difference. As to his fallibility and perchance for distraction, that is his opinion alone.

"These would be the source of your _distraction_?"

My eyes direct his to the papers before him.

"That would be a yes."

My friend's demeanor indicates he may be suffering from low blood sugar. It is mid-afternoon and I do not believe he has eaten. O'Neill tends toward irritability under stress. This trend I discussed with DanielJackson who suggested the malady. DrFraiser was able to confirm that suggestion and offered various remedies for it. Since than, I have made it a point to include 'snacks' in my pack. I do not believe he has realized that I routinely replenish his own supply by slipping them into his pack. To insure his ignorance of my actions, I have shown him a pronounced desire for his supply his freeze-dried peaches, boldly 'robbing' him of it while leaving behind my own offerings. MajorCarter has since remarked that O'Neill seems to have 'mellowed.'

"I require sustenance."

"Good. Because this conversation sucks. Let's go."

O'Neill gathers up his paper distraction, neatly stacking the folders before locking them in his desk. The care he exhibits indicates that these papers are not 'work,' but something much more important to him. He places few things above his work; perhaps my assumption of requiring food is erroneous?

"I have upset you."

"Nah, I'm... I don't know, _distracted_."

His laughter at himself lightens my heart. I had no wish to cause him discomfort. Locking his office, we proceed to the commissary.

"And what _distracts_ you?"

"You know there are only so many forms of that word and we've about used them up. Besides, it's a 'who,' not a 'what.' "

"Lt.VanSickle."

"Crap, does everybody know my business?"

O'Neill stops just short of the main corridor and faces me, a surprised and amused look upon his face.

"I could inquire."

"Teal'c, one of these days you're gonna pull my leg completely off, that humor of yours is lethal. You know that don't ya?"

"Indeed."

"Okay, okay. I give. I was going over the kid's plan for the survey."

"And."

"He makes me look like an idiot."

I weigh the option of a humorous answer versus a serious answer. Studying his face, I find my answer.

"He has proven his potential once more?"

"Yeah, he has. Damn it, Teal'c. It makes me ill knowing that I lost him. He would have made a real difference here."

"You did not lose him. He is still here; he can still make a difference. Blaming yourself diminishes you and Lt.VanSickle."

Seldom am I able to shock his man, but I have.

"How so?"

"You each made a decision. Yours based on a lifetime of experience, his on untried knowledge garnered from an undeniably wise man. Each on the surface appears sound; each would have remained sound, but for fate. It is a matter of calculated risk. Many young warriors die learning how to gage such risks. Lt.VanSickle is fortunate his lesson did not require his life."

O'Neill gazes at me calmly, thoughtfully. Many seconds pass before he speaks.

"I'm hungry."

Pivoting, he resumes his way towards the commissary. Having the same desire, I follow.

**Major Sam Carter**

"Daniel!"

Holy Hannah! He wants me to go behind the Colonel's back!

There is no way I'm going to betray the Colonel that way. Too many others have done that to him already and I will NOT be one of them. How dare Daniel suggest such a thing?

My anger skyrockets as the heat builds on my face, my eyes feel like they are crossing as I stare him down.

"Uh, Sam…"

"Daniel," I bite out coldly from between clenched teeth.

"What's wrong?"

He stands there looking so innocent, those lipid blue eyes swimming in just a little too much lubricant. He is so convincingly innocent. No, he will not use those baby blues to wiggle out of this.

"What's wrong! Oh, nothing much, just a very good friend wants me to betray a man I hold close to my heart. That's all."

'Damn, did I say that?' I need to shove those thoughts back into that room.

"What! No, no. Darn, Oh! I… I would never do anything against Jack. You know that. Don't you?"

He's so flustered maybe I'm jumping to a conclusion too fast. He looks sincerely shocked.

"Yet you expect me do this behind his back?"

"Well… yes."

"Tell me, Daniel. How is that good for the Colonel, a man who trusts us to be honest with him? How can you ask me to betray that trust?"

"Ah… well, I'm not exactly asking you to do that."

"What then?"

Standing stiffly, with my arms crossed, I stare at Daniel who stands practically backed up against the closed door of my lab. He starts explaining in a hurried, breathless voice, as if all the oxygen is being sucked from the room. He appears crushed at my accusations, he should be. He is supposed to be the Colonel's friend. His best friend.

Daniel being Daniel, is good, very good with words, he sucks me in and I unwillingly relax as his story unfolds. He tells me of the Colonel's fear relayed to him that night on the man's deck and how Captain Cochran was asked to help and the Captain's own night of discovery. The photos and Daniel's own fear that Cochran has his own agenda. And, how Daniel actually withheld the existence of the photos from the Colonel.

While I'm sure when the Colonel, uncharacteristically, allowed Daniel to look into this problem, he never expected Daniel to not tell him everything. The Colonel holds trust above all else and is stinting in it's gifting. Daniel is playing with fire; he could very well burn us all in the conflagration if the Colonel accidentally finds out what he has done.

I'm now certain Daniel has only the best intentions in keeping this from the Colonel. But then again, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

And like a fool, I agree with what he has done.

The Colonel needs our help; he is too involved with Lt. Van Sickle and his hopes for the creation of the Mirror Site. Both goals I wholeheartedly agree with. There doesn't seem to be a threat from the investigation, despite the rough goons Captain Cochran encountered, as long as the Lieutenant stays on base. Besides, I'll only be trying to identify the men in the photographs, not confronting them.

His explanation makes me feel better about what he is doing, not great, but better. Happy, I'm not.

"Daniel, do you realize the chance you are taking?"

"I'm sure Jack will understand why I'm doing this."

Staring at him again, I wonder how he can be so naive sometimes, but his trust in Jack's understanding might protect him.

"Colonel Cromwell probably thought the same thing."

Where did those come from? I cringe at my cutting words. They hit Daniel hard; he flinches and blanches alarmingly. Putting out my hand to him, I wish I could snatch back such ill-considered words. But, are they? The Colonel can be most unforgiving when his trust is violated.

"Daniel, I'm sorry, I never meant to say that. It just came out. Please, forgive me."

His eyes rose from the floor that they had been studying. They burned like blue fire in his shock-paled face. Fear radiates from him, Jack is very important to him and he must have just realized he could be the living dead to the Colonel if this all blew up in his face.

I wondered if he could survive that. Could SG-1?

The Colonel thought of Frank Cromwell as dead for seven long years, even in the end he refused to relent. Only the man's death got through to him. Way too late.

Suspecting that Colonel Cromwell probably died unforgiven, and being unsure if the Colonel learned anything from the resulting pain and guilt of that death. I fear that if he finds out what Daniel has done and reacts in a similar manner, neither of them could survive it. Unable to cope, each taking one emotional hit too many, I could see each of them backing away from life. To withdraw into a living death.

"Daniel, please I'm sure what you're thinking won't happen. The Colonel thinks of you as a brother, his love is unconditional."

I hope that my lie isn't too bald.

The Colonel would die for each of us, he trusts us with his life. Unfortunately, so complete is his trust, he leaves himself too open to emotional betrayal, too easily could any of us hurt him so badly he might never recover from it. This is what Daniel is risking, and now I. However, I intend that Daniel and the Colonel survive this.

My fingers finally make contact with Daniel's arm; I grasp it gently and pull him towards me. He looked confused and pleading at the same time. My smile lets him see that everything would be all right, I hope.

"Sam…?"

"It'll be okay Daniel. Do you have the photographs?"

"Ah… no, not with me. I… ah, e-mailed them to you."

"Okay, why don't you sit here next to my computer. I'll lock the door. We don't want just anyone walking in while we're both doing something to help the Colonel without him knowing. Okay?"

"Sam, I… I didn't think what this would look like to him. God, I just didn't think."

"Daniel, you did think. You thought about helping him, about how much you care for him. You only wanted to save him some pain. Your intentions were good."

"Yeah, I hope you're right. _Is it hot in here?_"

Go to: Chapter Seven


	7. Chapter 7

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER SEVEN **

**Capt. Isiah Cochran**

Ah, freedom. Free to do what I'm best at. No unwanted 'superior' standing around soaking up my moments.

God! I love this job!

Click.

Another tumbler falls to my lock pick.

Click.

Slowly, carefully, I ease the knob over. No sound. Teasing the door open just a smidge, I slip the little blackened foil square between the door and jamb, right over the alarm sensor pad. Widening the gap, I press the foil firmly, setting the adhesive. Pulling the door free, I freeze for a moment.

Ah, no screaming alarms. No flashing lights. No sirens in the distance. All is well with my world. Dino-mite!

I can fly. Who needs drugs? Adrenaline is the best!

Slipping into the dark building, I draw the door closed carefully behind me. Snicking the lock on once inside, since I don't want anyone to follow me in after all that work.

Pausing, I settle against the wall, to listen and to acclimate my eyes. To review.

So, where's Mr. 'taps eagles,' now? He was so easily avoided as I successfully outsmarted the Bird Colonel, Mackenzie. He may be Colonel to my Captain, but he's not an investigator. Not a shaker or mover, just a desk jockey.

My face hurts from my wide grin at the thought of slipping those photos out under his Bird Colonel nose. HA!

Not that those photos helped me any as I was completely unable to get any ID's on them. Damn!

The car and plane I'd had better luck with, getting the numbers of both with my camera. The plane was a private government job as was the car. And surprise, surprise. Both were more often than not assigned to the NID. And here I thought they played in the big leagues! But they're mot smart enough to use different transportation often enough to prevent being traced? Spook boobs!

And to add to their official stupidity, my in-depth inquiries into Dr Means came in. Having lots of relatives, I've learned to use them to advantage. They checked out every location that Dr Means has even been and I received detailed histories from my wonderful family members on every move the man has made since birth.

Family is such a wonderful thing, they, as a local resident, can get in close and gossip… ah, ask questions that a lone, out-of-towner can't.

Out of the reams of seemingly unimportant gossip… ah, information, I found some hot stuff. Descriptions. Dr Means' physical description differed from location to location. Through carefully collation I was able to do a comparison, yep; they're almost all different. There were a few that might have been the same person, mainly in places he stayed only a short time. But I'd say that there were more than one person calling himself, and in one case herself, Dr Means.

Whoa! Talk about government conspiracy. Mulder eat your heart out!

Going back over the guy's credentials and after a few phone calls, I discovered that he didn't actually have those credentials. Nowhere could I find any actual official records, graduations, licenses, what have you. Even his private existence was a fraud, a very clever one, but a fraud just the same. Someone had made sure that the good doctor was a member in excellent standing in all the organizations that a real doctor of his profession would belong to. Lots of money was spread around to put his name in the right places, giving him the illusion of legitimacy.

Dr. Means is a front.

My money says he's a front for the NID.

Now I have to discover why.

Pushing away from the wall I softly step down the dark hall towards the front of the office suite, I'm looking for Means' office. Lady Luck is with me tonight, there are only two offices, one is filled with discarded office equipment and the other has an enormous desk with a computer setting on it.

Guess which one I went for?

So fast did I hack into that computer that I had to terminate the boot virus scan to get the e-mail program on line. Many people don't realize that Outlook Express can keep local copies of e-mails. A snoop's... ah, investigator's treasure-trove. Accessing the program, I began reading, our Lieutenant was obliquely mentioned repeatedly.

What I read sickened me, Means was deliberately trying to convince the Lieutenant that he was useless, to give up, roll over, check out. Well, maybe not 'check out' that was a little final, but that could've happened anyway. Means wanted him to disappear for some reason.

Lots of very private information about the Lieutenant and his relationship with his father were in those e-mails. Stuff that no one had a right to know, let alone use to destroy a young man's life with. Those e-mails I destroyed. Checking for backup disks, I thankfully found there were none.

Although having those e-mails for evidence of the one bit of information I did find would've been very good. They revealed that a tissue sample was taken from the young Lieutenant at the physical exam that Dr Means supervised before the young man's discharge from the hospital. That was their first meeting.

Records! Wouldn't the hospital have records? That, I needed to check. And I'd bet there isn't a mention of that tissue sample anywhere in his medical records.

A tissue sample? What conceivable reason would a psychologist need that? A blood sample yes, but not a tissue sample. After all, I do hold a degree in psychology.

Hey! What can I say? Mom wanted me to be a doctor. The degree was a compromise.

Thump.

My hands moved without guidance, shutting off the power to the computer, the only light in the room. Motionless, I froze in the desk chair, greenish squares dancing before me, listening.

Sceeeeeeeech.

The sound grated against my ears and I shuddered at the painful overly loud noise in the night silent building.

Apparently, I am not alone.

The sound had been just a mite muffled and seemed to come from directly in front of me. Since the door was in that direction, I exited out into the hallway. Directly before me was the closed door of the other office I'd dismissed earlier. Softly stepping up to it I placed an ear at the crack between door and jamb.

Yep, I could hear something, or someone moving around in there. Easing the door open I stepped in and pulled the door shut behind me. Stopping, I stood listening. Wanting my flashlight ready for use, I pulled it from my pocket and filled my other hand with my weapon. Also, ready for use.

"Ooof."

Click.

A pool of light erupted across the linoleum; I saw a pair of feet clearly visible at the far edge. Looking down I could see my feet too.

Uh, oh.

The beam of light moved directly at me, crawling up my body to blind me. Raising my weapon I pointed it at where I figured the guy with the flashlight stood.

"I'll shoot!"

The deadly gleam of my weapon had to be visible to the guy. Ah… unless he was blind. Nah, he has a flashlight.

"Imbecile."

Huh!

The beam of light dropped from my eyes, the dark was now populated by bight bobbing green suns. Switching on my own flashlight, I squinted, aiming its beam in a mirror path of the other. The glint of a silver eagle at shoulder height stunned me.

Shit! Colonel to my Captain!

"Who you calling an imbecile, you idiot! I could'a shot you!" Irritated, I ground the words out. He may be a colonel but he still didn't know what he was doing.

"Your aim is that good?"

What! He's so elitist!

"What in the hell are you doing here!"

"Report! CAPTAIN."

Crap, Colonel to my Captain. Shit! Can't get a break here.

"Ah… well, I…"

"I warn you Captain, if I receive less than the truth you will be a private in the blink of an eye."

"Ooookay, hold your water. I hacked his computer."

"And."

"E-mails."

"Captain, you are aware that 'report' means to volunteer information?"

"E-mails, lots of e-mails. Means communicated with more than one unknown person regarding Van Sickle. They were trying to emotionally cripple him to isolate him in preparation to possibly abducting him."

"Now, that wasn't so bad was it."

'_Now, that wasn't so bad was it. _Yadda, yadda, yadda!'

Mealy mouthed, jumped up, full of himself, no good, elitist, jackboot, stuck on hisself, stuffed shirt, on a stick, pedestaled, holier than thou SOB. 1… 2… 3…. 4… 5…

Composing myself, I forced my hand to stop crushing my flashlight.

"Nah, painless."

Smiling an irascible smile I put on my best happy go lucky expression and laughed like a stubborn jackass inside my head at the little bit of information I hoarded there. Hey! Going back to the private sector was always an option.

"Since you are here you can make yourself useful and help me search this room."

Shit! Colonel to my Captain.

"Sure. You want I should get you a coffee first?"

MacKenzie just glared at me until I got busy searching. It damned near killed me to admit, but it turned out to be a good idea.

Poking around the stacks of junk, I worked my way over to the partially open window. Needing to know just how our Bird Colonel got in without the alarms going off I glanced over my shoulder checking to see if he was looking. Luckily, he was thumbing through a filing cabinet obvious to the world. Flashing my flashlight over at the window, I glimpsed something. What! Illuminating the window again, I took a bit longer checking it out. Damn! Can you believe it! He found the one and only window not attached to the security system. Talk about your dumb luck!

Backing away from evidence of my unnecessary labors at breaking and entering, I started rummaging in a mound of stuff in one of the corners, I found a couple of storage boxes full of files and in those files were receipts. Glancing over at the Bird Colonel, I began to stuff them into my jacket pocket. There were a couple of patient files too; one had the kid's name on it. Scanning it quickly, I knew that I would have to give it up to the Doc. But not before I made careful note of the drugs prescribed.

Hmmm. Although I was a bit rusty on meds, what I saw seemed a little odd to me. It would have to wait.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

It must have been ages since I've laughed this hard.

The Colonel has so much padding on he could barely move. How could he box or whatever he plans on doing with Teal'c?

Teal'c was going to help me 'modify' my fighting skills to help minimize my injuries, I had decided to take him up on his offer. As for the Colonel, well...

I think I've been had.

Teal'c asked me to come at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Then in walks Colonel O'Neill in the most ridiculous outfit I had ever seen, in so much protective gear that I had to ask who he was. He had on a wrestling head protector, mouth guard, eye guards, protective gloves, hard shell elbow and kneepads, shin and thigh guards, shoulder pads, foot shields and a neck brace. He must have gotten the last item from the infirmary. But, the _nut cup_ was the jewel in his attire, big enough for the Jolly Green Giant, it was duct taped to his waist. Reminding me of an actor's codpiece, a proud protuberance like the ones I'd seen in Shakespearean plays. Hardly any of him wasn't covered in an inch or more of white elasticized or shiny red padding.

He danced around a bewildered Teal'c poking shots at the big Jaffa.

"Ah, for crying out loud, T. Hit me!"

And Teal'c did, hit him. Bowled him head over heels. He was back on his feet so fast I blinked. Now how could he do that? The padding must increase his weight and decrease his mobility.

"Is that the best you can do? Come on, take your best shot?"

And Teal'c did, take his best shot. At the swing, I winced so badly, I nearly closed my eyes. Luckily, I still saw that Teal'c never connected. The Colonel danced away, right after connecting with a shot of his own. My eyes bulged in surprise.

Teal'c was fast, very fast. But the Colonel, damn, he moved like lightening. Yet, when he did, there was no haste to it, he… just moved. Having seen the man a lot over the last two weeks, I saw that he always moved gracefully, languidly but there was no hint that he could do this.

"Hey, T. Let's give the kid a show."

"As you wish."

So I watched as the two warriors let go and went at it with no restraint. Vicious blows were exchanged, ducking, dodging and kicks blurred into a dance of physical mastery. Each was bent on besting the other. Teal'c began to sweat heavily. The padding must have soaked up O'Neill's, each second increasing the weight he bore. Then O'Neill slipped up, he forced Teal'c to the floor and in so doing Teal'c's blow landed where he had not intended. The Colonel went flying, head first into the wall, striking the only spot on his body that wasn't padded.

"O'Neill!" Seemed involuntarily wrenched from Teal'c's throat as he bounded to his feet and ran to his unmoving commander.

Teal'c knelt beside the downed man just as I skidded to a stop next to them. Then I noticed that a fist was pounding the floor. The Colonel was alive. Teal'c gently rolled him over onto his back, the Colonel's face was deeply flushed and he wasn't breathing right. Teal'c pushed a muscled arm under his friend's shoulders and lifted, the Colonel swung his arms up to grip the arm reaching across his chest to help further support him.

"Relax my friend."

Hack. Hack. 'Damn!" Gossamer sound, but there. The Colonel was breathing hard now, in shallow swallows.

"Do not worry Lt.VanSickle, O'Neill has had his breathing knocked loose."

"Wind…" Gasp, gasp. "Wind knocked…" Pant, pant. "Wind knocked out of me."

"I think you mean 'the wind knocked out of him.' " I said to Teal'c.

"Is that not what I said O'Neill?"

"Kinda. No Jaffa jokes." Pant, pant. "Can't laugh." Gasp.

"How's you head Sir? You slammed into that wall hard."

Teal'c pulled the Colonel up and sat him to lean against the wall he had just assaulted. O'Neill reached up to gingerly feel the top of his head.

"No, I don't think I hit… dead on. Doesn't seem… to be even a bump, I think… I hit the floor harder, knocking… the breath out of me. Damn I hate that." The Colonel stopped to catch his breath before asking, "You okay there T? I didn't mean to connect that shot at all. I'm sorry."

"I am unharmed. You however will now rest and watch."

"Orders?"

"Indeed."

"Guess that's that then. Help me up."

Teal'c and I both gripped an arm and slowly pulled him up. Teal'c held onto him, until he felt he was going to remain upright. Releasing the man he began to strip O'Neill's of his padding, the Colonel griping every step of the way. I stepped in and helped. He was soaking wet and shaking, in reaction or having pushed himself beyond his endurance, I couldn't tell. He suddenly planted a hand on the wall to help support his shaking body, Teal'c clapped a hand back on him at that move. He needed to sit down; I increased my pace of removing padding

As the last piece of protective gear hit the floor, Teal'c steered the Colonel across the gym to where I had been sitting watching from the padded bench against the concrete wall. Following closely behind I stopping just long enough to grab a few dry towels from my bag and a bottle of water. Both I offered to my exhausted superior after he had eased his lean frame onto the bench with a loud sigh.

Teal'c and I tried to dry him off but he slapped our hands away muttering 'not dead yet.' So Teal'c stood with arms crossed and watched his friend. O'Neill ran the towel up and down his sweaty bare legs and arms, ending by burying his face in it, soaking the moisture off. Then, he slung the towel around the back of his neck to hang down his chest over the t-shirt glued there by the wetness of his skin.

While sitting on the floor, I watched the two of them. O'Neill looked up from trying unsuccessfully to pull the clammy tee away from his chest to see Teal'c watching him.

"What!"

"Are you well, O'Neill."

"I'm not the witch T."

"Obviously."

"If you're through, I think the kid is next," the Colonel said while jerking a thumb in my direction. I gulped.

Teal'c turned and pierced me with his eyes. They laughed! He was amused. It floored me.

Teal'c gestured to the center of the practice mats before striding to stand at their center. Feeling like a lamb to slaughter, I followed.

Facing Teal'c, I found up close he was large, very large. At 6'1" I'm not short, but I felt half that standing before this enormous man. He wasn't looking at me, but watching O'Neill. My eyes followed to watch the Colonel also.

"You found my Warrior Brother amusing?"

His words brought my eyes back to his; he boldly looked deeply into mine before dropping them to my maimed hand. Unable to look away from his face I felt him grasp my arm by the wrist and cradle my injured hand in his.

"Ah… yes, I did."

"He wished to teach you a lesson in his own way."

He slowly skimmed those powerful fingers across my skin, lightly exploring the scars where my fingers had been.

"He did?"

"Yes, I hope you comprehended it, I did not."

Finished exploring , he began to manipulate my hand, opening and closing it slowly and gently, never touching the two taped fingers.

"You didn't?"

"No, he does many things that are a mystery to me. He is my brother and I trust him, that is all I need to know."

Now he lifted my hand and seemed to peer closely at the taped fingers.

"The lesson, I think I know what it is."

"Please explain."

His eyes again enveloped me. All of his attention was on me. Expecting an explanation.

"All the padding wasn't to be funny, but to represent a disadvantage."

"Yes, I see. He is illustrating that a handicap can be overcome. He was most formidable today."

He returned his attention to my bound fingers. Laying my hand inside his, he used his hand to close mine. Busy watching him. I never noticed that he had been covertly watching my face. Was he watching for signs of pain? And to my surprise, I had felt none through all of his manipulations.

"Do you think he practiced this?" Indicating the Colonel.

"He had reserved this gym more than once over the last few days, for 'private' practice. Usually I am present for such practices. But I only know of these because they are on the sign-in sheet outside."

Looking down, I was just in time to see Teal'c slowly open his hand and release me, before taking a half step back.

"Hey, T."

The Colonel's muffled voice rang across the pause in our conversation. Teal'c turned his attention to the man that now lay flat on his back on the bench.

"If you bruise him, Fraiser will have my skin. Can you kinda, Tai Chi it?"

Teal'c looked slightly puzzled for a moment before answering.

"Easily. Thank you, O'Neill, a most inventive suggestion. Your skin will remain where it is."

"Yeah, until Fraiser hears about me and the wall."

A ghost of a smile lit Teal'c's face at O'Neill's words and he inclined his head in his friend's direction, although the man in question had an arm over his eyes. It's not the action, but rather it's the thought that counts, I'd guess. The respect it represented shook me to the core.

Suddenly I was the center of the huge man's attention.

"Will he be okay?" Stammering out my question, I felt my own concern for the Colonel's welfare.

"I will watch him, if not, then Fraiser will assuredly be informed about the wall."

Over the next two hours Teal'c slowly explored my personal combat reflexes discovering my new blind spots, then methodically invented moves to create new reflexes to armor those areas. All in the slow motion common to Tai Chi. In the end, I possessed my own martial art created and designed for me and me alone. Teal'c was only marginally satisfied and made me promise a new time to review and improve my new moves.

Colonel O'Neill shouted out encouragement and comments for the first hour until a SF appeared at the door. Teal'c and I watched as he stomped out, not in the least happy at being found. My impression it that he doesn't have enough fun, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying my systemic humiliation at Teal'c's hands far more than I was.

Suddenly, I realized that I felt... confident, accepted... wanted. Both of these men making me their focus for nearly three hours would boost anyone's ego into the stratosphere. But they also wanted to be with me, that... that was... the lightest feeling I'd ever experienced. Even knowing that this wondrous time was about to end didn't dampen that feeling, a feeling I had no name for.

Teal'c bowed slightly to me, before excusing himself to find his Warrior Brother and assure himself that all was well with him.

Was I dreaming? Did someone really care about me?

The answer shocked me.

Yes!

XXX

Two days after my meeting in Colonel O'Neill's office, I sat in the main conference room.

Disbelieving, I found it hard to realize that I was in charge of the meeting and the commanding officer, even temporarily. Damn, there are captains, and colonels here, and one very special man sat to the side, taking it all in. He said that even he was under my command for this mission. He would only invoke his rank in dire conditions.

My eyes traveled over those assembled at this early hour to lock with Colonel O'Neill's, his gossamer smile and jerk of his chin told me the show was all mine. Drawing in a breath, I held it a moment before…

"If I may have your attention."

The chatter in the room died down, all eyes fastened on me. Standing tall before them, I resume.

"I'm Lt. Eric Van Sickle and your commanding officer for this project."

Holding another breath, I watched the shocked expressions dawn across the faces seated around the table and the furtive glances towards Colonel O'Neill who sat impressively acting for all the world like my statement was boringly ordinary. Those shocked looks were replaced by questioning looks on most of those faces as I let the silence stretch.

"Each of you will find the mission statement in the folder provided."

Our purpose was two fold I explained. First, to study PBX 123, developing a plan to convert the tunnels located there into a second SGC base. Second, our performance on the first task would be scrutinized. We were the first test of a new non-combat level in the military with more relaxed physical fitness requirements. Our success could make it possible for those unable to meet regular military fitness requirements to be retained in 'safe zones' as non-combat military. Enriching our military might with our experience and knowledge, something that is now lost when seasoned personnel are discharged as unfit.

As I explained the mission's goals, I felt their attention fasten onto me. Astonishment _and_ excitement shown in their eyes, they no longer saw me as a junior officer out of his depth. We all shared a common goal; I was one of them. All of us had a very personal stake in the outcome of this mission.

During this, our first meeting, I spent some time doing introductions and offering base orientations for the few not intimately familiar with the SGC. After touching on Colonel O'Neill's role in the mission, I asked each specialist to look over their assigned part of the mission and review it. Rewrite it if need be. They had the knowledge and I needed them to apply it. If something needed changing, now was the time. Finally, I dismissed them to their reviews. The Colonel had seen that a few airmen were available as guides, helping get the specialists settled at computers or work areas. We would all reassemble after lunch and find out how far everyone has gotten.

With everyone settled, I leaned back into the chair at the head of the table and sighed into the now nearly empty cavern of a room. It had been easier than I dreamed. It had felt right. Worrying about doing this had been unnecessary and I now knew that I could handle it. A hand dropped onto my shoulder, I looked up into the face of Colonel O'Neill.

"Survived did ya?"

"It was easier than I thought Sir."

"Ya think! You're a pro kid. Keep this up and I could retire."

"You wouldn't…"

"What! And miss your rise in the new military, not a chance."

A sergeant poked his head into the room and speared the Colonel with a look.

"Oops, seems I'm wanted. Remember I'm around; call if you need help. Lunch, okay? You, me and Teal'c."

Each word louder than the last as he strode across the room to deal with whatever problem only he could fix that had arisen elsewhere on the base. I called my agreement as I rose to my feet. I wanted to tour the new team, talk to them one on one, get to know them, let them get to know me. Answer the questions they must have, but were unwilling to voice in the meeting.

This needed to come off perfect; I planned to head off any problems before Gating. I owed the Colonel that much.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

"Humph!"

Startled, I jerked. Dropping the statue. Luckily, I was holding it over a bed of excelsior, having just removed it from its safe haven.

"Captain Cochran!"

Now, I was beginning to see what it is that Jack doesn't like about this man. Calming myself, I ignored my anger at being startled. Holding a breath, I slowed my hammering heart. Tucking the stature deeper into its protective bed, I sealed the container. 'Better safe than sorry,' as Jack says.

"Hey, Doc, you should go easy on that coffee, makes you jumpy."

"Thank you, I'll try to cut back…"

"Great, Doc. You should try Green Tea, good for the brain and won't make you as jumpy. It's very Zen."

He roams through my office like a shark circling a bleeding dolphin. Just waiting for the right moment to slash and tear.

Since the shelving holds irreplaceable artifacts, I slowly edge towards him imposing my body between him and them. Hoping he will take a hint and sit, I smile and point to a chair. He shakes his head and steps around me and actually snatches down a fragile terra-cotta figurine, the only one of its kind.

Darn it, I really need proper storage for such objects d'art.

I wish Jack were here. Sigh. At least he knows to leave the breakable objects alone.

Have I ever craved Valium before?

"Sooo, Captain. What can I do for you?" I ask as I follow him around like a nanny behind a three-year old.

"Actually, it's what I can do for you. Or for the Colonel O'Neill. Is he around?"

"Uh… no, he's gearing up for an off world mission right now. He won't be available for oh… about two weeks I'd say."

Darn, this is the last thing that Jack needs, this hero worshipper descending on him. He's got too much to think about without this.

"Oh."

His obvious disappointment nearly has me feeling sorry for him, nearly. But I do have an obligation to Jack to get this man to discover all the information that can be had about this Dr Means fellow.

"Well, you can tell me, I am dealing with this for Colonel O'Neill. Do you have anything new?"

"Yes, I do have new information. This quack Means is a…" He pauses and appears to be checking for unwanted listeners before continuing. "…NID front."

His dramatic pause was totally unnecessary because this information would have stunned me anyway. What would the NID want with a Lieutenant that had only been off world twice before receiving a medical discharge from the Air Force? Did I hear right?

"What!"

Unfortunately, I played right into his sense of drama with that exclamation. Cochran delivers the rest of the information with a melodramatic delivery reminiscent of Peter Sellers while I play the part of captive audience.

"Yes, Dr Means doesn't exist. Having tracked down all of his past jobs, I discovered his physical appearance was different from location to location. His credentials were bogus too. The vehicles at Petersen, at the time, were assigned to the NID. So far, I haven't been able to identify the players, nor have I been able to hook up with Dr Means or his goons again. They are laying low. And there's this..."

With a flourish, he hands me a file folder. Opening it, I find two plastic document protectors. One contains a receipt for a money transfer, a rather large sum. The other a photocopy of a medical prescription made out to Lt. Van Sickle by Dr Means. Slowly shutting the file I wonder how far Sam had gotten on ID'ing the men in the Captain's photos. Now, however, I wonder how long it will take me to talk him out of my office, so that I can get this information to her.

"This is all?" Perhaps, if I act like there should be more he might take offense and slink away, I try for disappointment. It's not hard.

"At the moment that is the only telling information. There is further information, I have proof that the doctor is non-existant and I can make that available now, if you need it."

"No, you keep that safe. Colonel O'Neill might need it later. Right now, I can't see a use for it. Thank you for bringing this. I'm not sure how it will help, but I'll check into it."

Grasping his arm, I try to steer him to the door while trying to pry the figurine from his deathlike grip with the other. He neatly steps out of my grip, replaces the figurine in its place, smiles and leaves without a word.

Just when you think you have someone figured out, they do something out of character.

Sam, I need to see Sam.

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

Neatly fanned across my desk are photographs.

Dr Mackenzie placed them there as an explanation after insisting that we talk in my office behind a locked door and shuttered windows.

In the photographs, there are men, some in uniform, some in suits. There are photos of a plane and a large dark car. Many of them were taken at night. Baffled I pin the man with my eyes.

"I don't understand."

"Lt. Van Sickle," he enunciates it deliberately, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing.

And here I had thought he had changed. I stare at him. What did these photographs have to do with the Colonel's Lieutenant? The look on his face tells me I should see the connection, but I don't.

"I don't understand."

"You asked me to check Lt. Van Sickle's chart..."

Shaking my head I clench my eyes shut. Tossing my open hands to either side in confusion, I ask.

"I don't understand what these photographs have to do with that?"

His face actually screws up in confusion.

"You haven't spoken to Colonel O'Neill?"

"No. What has that to do with the Lieutenant's chart?"

"You don't know about Captain Cochran's investigation?"

"Investigation?" Now, I'm totally confused. "Perhaps it would be best for you to start at the beginning and tell me everything?"

"Oh. I just... never mind. Well, after your call..."

The man explained for two hours, I had a hard time holding my attention on his words. What? Wait for it, he'll repeat it again, and again...

No! Yes, that is what he said.

Carefully I appeared to be listening, masking my churning thoughts. These men, who Mackenzie believed were NID, mentioned the Healing Device. Mackenzie doesn't know the connection between that and the Lieutenant. He has no idea, but does the NID? If they did, they would be itching to get their hands on the Lieutenant. This is not good.

"And there's this," Mackenzie waves a file folder at me.

Grabbing it, I find a prescription memo inside from a patient's chart, for Lt. Van Sickle. Oh, this can't be right. I glance up at Mackenzie.

"Not the usual drugs for handling physical trauma are they?"

"No, no they aren't. This one is notorious for forced questioning and date rape, making the recipient susceptible to suggestion. The Lieutenant was prescribed this drug? From when he left the SGC and until two days before he returned here?"

"Curious timing isn't it? He was given the drug by Dr Means while in session, only the first couple of doses were actually in the boy's possession. The drug was stopped the day Colonel O'Neill visited him."

"The Lieutenant never went back to Dr. Means after speaking to the Colonel, yet you tell me Dr Means made no attempt to contact him, a patient that missed a regular daily appointment. Yes, I could call all of this curious. But I have no idea what any of it means."

"Neither do I. I suspect that the NID either wants the boy or Colonel O'Neill in some way. The Colonel seems to be the only connection big enough to interest the NID."

Oh, if he only knew that there is a much bigger connection that would interest the NID, one that has nothing whatsoever to do with Colonel O'Neill.

Go to: Chapter Eight


	8. Chapter 8

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER EIGHT **

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

The kid has everything together.

Standing against the wall under the Control Room windows, I know Hammond is probably having a fit because he can't see me. But, I want him to deal with Eric as the head of this little expedition, so I'm hiding. Though I'll probably hear about this little stunt, I really don't care. However since George is a friend, I'll try to explain to him later that this kid is kinda important to me. Daniel pointed that out.

My intent is to be just a shadow on this mission, but not a shadow over the kid.

A shadow is not what he needs, it didn't take me long to realize that his self-confidence had been totally shattered. I'm not entirely sure that his accident and that bastard of a shrink are the only causes. As if that weren't bad enough. As a carrier of 'baggage' myself I can recognize others of my ilk. The kid's youth precludes the kind of crap I've endured, thank god, which leaves only a few possibilities, none of which I want to contemplate.

This kid suffered something or someone before he was old enough to fend for himself. Incoming personnel are fully investigated; the SGC doesn't need infiltrators or problem people. Nothing showed in his file that might explain my hunch, he seemed to have had a normal All-American childhood. Maybe a little better than most, but nothing out of the ordinary. I could be wrong.

Being so young, he's bouncing back fast. He's once again the kid that impressed me so much and he continues to impress me.

My thoughts are drowned out by the thunks of the locking chevrons; I turn to watch the Gate connect.

The noisy kawoosh of the connecting wormhole quiets the human sounds in the deep room. Then Eric's voice fills the vast space, clear, firm and calm in the sudden silence, he leads the way to PBX 123, and his team follows with their attendant vehicles.

This is the biggest Gating I've seen yet. We have every FRED the base possesses loaded to the max. From what I understand, this is a very bare bones expedition; normally a group this size would carry three times the equipment.

Eric's choices of personnel is paying off, they've done wonders paring down, sharing and preventing duplication of everything imaginable. The kid is determined that nothing extra will be carted though the Gate. And he's infected his fledgling team with the same idea. Scientists are computer and gadget junkies, but this lot of scientists will be _sharing_ three laptops. Hell, Eric and all the rest of them, including me went over every program; every bit of stored information, again and again trying to make do with a minimum of information and programming. But in the end, they knew they had to have at least three laptops to do the job right. And these guys are a very inventive group, if they say they need three, then three it is.

And Eric... the kid has the right stuff. He handled that pack of eggheads better than I could. Not once did he draw a weapon or even threaten to draw one on them. How he got them to respond so willingly to his suggestions startled me. Maybe I'm just too military? I expect people to ask how high, not suggest a direction. The kid has a unique approach to command, he doesn't shout, threaten or order. He 'suggests.' Yeah, I know, sounds wimpy don't it. But the way he does it... nope, wimpy never crosses my mind, his suggestions are presented as a tantalizing challenge. Not the glove to face and pistols at dawn kinda challenge either, he offers an intellectual dare and those scientists fall all over themselves trying to prove who can meet it best. He could show me a thing or two.

I went with Eric's defense proposal.

Selling the military on arming non-combatants may never happen, but his group will go armed. Except for the Lt. Dennis Wong, who is a huge Scandinavian that would dwarf Teal'c and so gentle Daniel seems brutal next to him. He refuses to carry a weapon. Eric confided in me that he was afraid to carry one, feeling he was unable to trust his reactions when he came across the first animal he saw. In fact, he was afraid that having lost his hand to one he would just react, not think, and use it. To look at him, violence would be beyond him, but I learned long ago to never turn my back on any breathing creature.

As the last of them passes through the Gate, I push away from the wall and stride up the ramp, turning at the last moment; my eyes seek out Hammond. His is the only figure visible above and his stance says pissed. Oy!

Later in private, I know I'll hear about this. He's not one to dress down his 2IC or any officer in public; he has to uphold my authority as I do his. Only that doesn't stop him from tearing strips off me in private, I wince at the mere thought.

"Sir?"

With all honor to my friend, I snap to attention. This is just too much fun to resist, I know I fluster him when I do this, but...

He salutes and calls out to me.

"God speed, Colonel."

Executing my usual vague salute, for luck, I turn on my heel and step into the sucking resistance of the wormhole, a resistance that instantaneously becomes a hard push into a bright new world. My feet search for and find the hard stone of the platform this gate sits on and again I thank Major Carter for fixing our dialing program to eliminate the misalignment of our earlier arrivals. Slamming into that stone would have been painful.

Carter explained that the realignment calculations were a little off and told me that I had provided the means to correct the situation. The program that I inputted into the SGC computer while under the influence of the Ancients' download solved it. I'll have to take her word for it; I don't remember that at all. Although the math impressed her to pieces, it took her nearly two years to figure it out and utilize it.

Standing easy before the active Gate, I gaze down upon Eric's team, seeing lots of nekkid knees. Most of the group is dressed in short sleeves and shorts; this world is a bit warmer than Earth. Daniel would be at home with this group looking very much like they're headed off to a dig in Egypt than an alien world. Glancing down at my trousers I ask myself, just this once, why I didn't go for the more comfortable clothes. Probably the same reason the kid didn't. _Just in case._

Voices bounce from the stone walls of the 'box' canyon that PBX 123's Gate is enclosed in. A rather strange box canyon.

About the size of a football field, sheer stone walls lean slightly away from it, on all _four_ sides. It screams artificial. Directly in front of me is a narrow passage that ramps upward onto the heights above the gate. This slot is just big enough for a FRED to pass easily, nothing bigger, which I would have preferred with this group.

The snap of the disconnecting wormhole startles some of the group below me, their heads snap up and around, until they realize the Gate was the source. The canyon amplified that snap and it echoed ominously over the grassy field they stand on, a ragged line of vehicles and humans. Soon the silence is again filled with their voices, pushing back the alien feel of our location.

Carter and Daniel agreed with me about the canyon being artificial, I've never seen anything natural like it before and it's a wonderful strategy. An invader would be trapped here and the defender could pick them off from above at their leisure. Not as neat as our iris, but effective.

Tunnels run into the rock off the upper half of the ramp, at first the openings are small, easily defensible, becoming bigger until they resemble loading bays. Bigger than any vehicle that can use the ramp. SG-1 and I were here for only two days; we only saw a small portion of the complex, but what I saw looked good. This group will tell me the whole story; we'll be here for at least eight days, more if needed.

George saw more potential to this little trip than I did, he said I needed a little R and R and _asked_ me to take my fishing pole with me. Who am I to argue? But, his private orders to me gave me the distinct impression that he expected me to get lots of sleep and maybe a tan. He expressly pointed out that all I needed were a few pairs of socks and maybe a hat, nothing else. Yeah, he and I may have spent time in just combat boots and little else during our careers, but it ain't gonna happen here. There are women in this group! Nope, no way in hell will I deepen the color of my butt cheeks in mixed company, general or no general. Period.

Eric and I had viewed and discussed the video available from PBX 123 and gone over all of the mission reports submitted by SG-1, describing in detail what we had found. He was as loath to camp in the canyon with the Stargate or the unexplored tunnels, as was I. He opted to ascend the ramp and set up on the partially wooded plateau. And from the looks of the group before me, he intended to do that right now.

The kid had stopped the group only long enough to iron out any problems from the Gate transit and make sure everyone was ready to go. With a 'wagon ho' gesture, everyone started across the grassy canyon floor to the slot visible in the far rock wall. I shifted my P-90 and tagged along at the end of the line at a leisurely pace.

One by one the group stepped into what appeared to be solid black rock. It was eerie as Hell. The hollow echoes of movement ahead of me grew louder until I was only one left. Closing my eyes, I stepped into the solid darkness, hoping that they would adjust rapidly. I stumbled as my foot unerringly found the only loose stone for miles. My eyes involuntarily opened to bobbing shafts and pools of light that gyrated crazily over the flat surfaces now so close.

Not wishing to view this headache-inducing light show, I shut my eyes again, letting my feet guide me up the gentle slope of the ramp. A ramp that cuts though an impressive quarter mile of solid stone and rises approximately 200 feet in elevation, not steep at all but a little claustrophobic since the walls are only six feet apart.

Sensing that the wall to my left is no longer present, I open my eyes. A sucking hole of blackness in the dark stone stares at me, I let the instinctive fear such moments provoke in any mammal's hindbrain to wash over me. There's no sense in fighting such an instinct, but recognizing and channeling it is necessary and vital to survival. Fear kills.

Staring into the tunnel, I strain, seeking signs of danger. No tingle, no sound or rising of the hair on arms or neck. Nothing, just like my last visit. Empty, dead, abandoned. Reassured that nothing has yet changed, I head towards the rapidly brightening ramp ahead of me.

The slot is now a corridor of entrances; each step presents more detail as the light increases and the height of the walls decreases. The sky appears as if it is descending; lowering until it becomes all that there is, just as the slot falls away and ends, having no more rock to carve its way through.

The ever-present irritating trees make themselves known. Their tops just visible beyond a small bare knoll nearly a quarter mile further, where the others trudge their way to its crown.

Behind us can be seen a fan of naked rock, its outer edge a vertical cliff above a sea of evergreens. The all too perfect shadow of the Gate Canyon's presence disrupts the glare the cloudless sky creates of that expanse of exposed stone. Looking way too much like an enormous empty swimming pool waiting to be filled.

The immense artificial topography appears as if a huge knife had sliced away part of the mountain. Just imagine a two layer cake, slice the upper layer in half and remove one half, the canyon lies at the edge of the lower layer snugged up close to the remaining upper layer. The stream we are headed for is exactly opposite of the canyon on our imaginary layer cake, but with one difference, the surface there slopes downward and may actually be natural or only roughly shaped by those who engineered this place.

We never found any of the missing rock.

Eric guides his little group to the left, towards the creek bed where SG-1 had camped previously.

The creek spills out of a narrow steep-walled, boulder-strewn canyon onto a wide sandy flood plain. Then, it gathers itself back up in an orderly fashion; to enter a water-carved rock chute to descend a final vertical distance. Becoming a free-falling waterfall before reaching the broad grassy plains that could be seen from the cliff it leaps from. Below the stream meanders in broad half loops before disappearing into a shimmering lake. Which in turn disappears westward into the distance.

The lake's water blends nearly seamlessly with the tall grass, as the sky above us is a tawny green which reflects its color in the flat expanse of water. The only contrasts below are the huge flocks of avian critters, which appear a bright iridescent green. Becoming moving splotches of bright sparkling glints against the duller smooth liquid and weedy waves of the landscape.

Oh, I didn't mention, the trees are blue, like the color of a blue spruce. A green more blue than green with that white shimmer on it. At least the evergreen-type trees are that color. They live up slope of the stream. While lacy flat-topped, white-barked trees with feathery leaves shade the flood plain nearest the creek's canyon. Standing shoulder to shoulder, their bright spring green color and tiny leaves illuminate the covered area brightly but also protects from the full sun.

It's an impressive sight.

For once, we are lucky; Earth time corresponds with PBX 123's time. Length of day is very close. We arrive before mid-morning and the kid plans on getting the camp fully operational before anyone does anything.

The only argument he gets is from Major Alice Drake, she has had a hard time accepting a lowly Lieutenant as her CO. She had at first tried to talk over the kid and address me. I helped by ignoring her; she caught on fast once she realized that I pretended she wasn't even in the room when she did that. After a few times of that, she began to speak to the man in charge -- Lieutenant Van Sickle.

The woman is a willowy blond, blue eyed, attractive woman close to my age. Very fit, being just a little older than Carter and must have had to fight every step of the way for her place in the military machine. I thank God that Carter has been spared a lot of that. The Air Force is easier on women, but not the rest of the military and Drake is a Marine. Her life must have been hell, and I gained an immediate respect for her perseverance and dedication in getting this far. However, chain of command is chain of command, if she's told to obey a lieutenant she should.

She's wearing shorts, very short tight shorts, making it easy for me to see her ridiculously smooth gait as she walks ahead of me. It's a little disconcerting to see a normal shapely leg next to that outrageously thin spar tipped with a spring foot. My mind says she should lurch or something but from watching her butt and hips, you'd never guess she had only one leg. I find myself mesmerized by those smoothly swinging hips, and then I realize what I'm doing.

'Shit Jack, look elsewhere before someone notices.'

Jeez, I really don't want to get something started with this woman, Marines are like elephants; they never forget or forgive a slight. Sighing in disgust, I tug at my collar, praying for a little breeze to dry the sweat from my suddenly heated neck and chest.

Our little caravan didn't take long to reach the creek and I'm so relieved to escape the company of that Marine. For the life of me I couldn't keep my eyes off of her swaying body. This is just proof positive that I have some kind of death wish. Lord knows who would want to kick my ass first, Drake or Carter, if either one of them found out where my mind has been in the last couple of minutes... and, let's not forget Daniel, he'd have to get his two cents in too. All I was doing was looking, sheez!

The hubbub of the excited scientists drives me to put as much distance between my tent and their proposed city of canvas as prudently possible. A man's gotta be able to think, even if he is thinking stupid thoughts about certain Marines or Air Force Majors.

I'm able to squash my betraying thoughts by setting up my own tent and stowing my gear. When you have to do it nearly everyday, you learn to be fast and neat. The P-90 is out of sight under my sleeping bag, my 9mil rides my hip. The larger weapon should be safe, but to make sure I always carry a little alarm that goes off if someone unzips the tent. I've scared Daniel a few times with it and it's saved our lives one or twice too.

With my housekeeping accomplished and since I'm here to observe, I wander back to 'tent city' and find a vantage point on a truck-sized boulder next to the creek. I settle back to watch the construction; scientists can be such geeks under conditions like this. It's very entertaining. The leaves of the trees shading the campsite nearly brush my head at this height where I'm afforded an excellent view of the activity.

Boring. These guys are just so boring, even the Marine isn't being a witch. Tuning out the racket and myopic to the movement around me I turn to thoughts of fishing, wondering what flies would work on a world with such an unusual color scheme. Spinners would work; they work everywhere, unlike the flies. I don't get much opportunity to even contemplate fishing on this side of the Gate; only on diplomatic or repeat missions do I consider fishing at all.

And on those rare occasions, Teal'c nearly goes insane with worry. Just one incident soured him on fishing for life. It was an accident, pure and simple. The rocks were wet. I slipped. So, sue me. I bounced off the boulder I'd been standing on, slammed my head on my way to landing in the pool I'd been working and went under. Teal'c saw it happen. He jumped in after me, and this is where he got turned off of fishing, he couldn't find me.

He nearly flattened me when I yelled at him from the bank after watching him dive that pool at least three times before I could get his attention. He was madder than a wet hornet at me. Wouldn't say a word all the way to Carbondale to have the gash in my head stitched up.

Since then, I haven't been able to get near the Frying Pan or any other prime trout water. And not for a minute do I believe that my truck breaks down every time I tell him that I'm going fishing. Ford pickups are not prone to having their wiring conveniently unpluggin' itself while sitting completely still in a driveway. That is just too far fetched.

My thoughts of fishing grind to a halt, only at first I don't know why. Ah, Dr. Brent, he's trying to unpack his telescope. This subject is much more interesting than fishing, he has the sweetest Takahashi wide-field scope, his _personal_ telescope. With all the bells and whistles, hand motor controls linked to his own programs in one of the laptops. That baby is equipped with CCD and binoviewers. Usually used as a comet hunter, it's perfect for doing a rough survey of virgin star fields. I'm itching to get my hands on it.

Brent's scope is why we brought three laptops; no one could find a way to pare down his programs, already so well written and just bare bones. But the biggest problem with his area of study is storage, so we brought a laptop that would accept hot switching of hard drives. It was one of Carter's laptops specially built for her by the Air Force. She used it for wormhole analysis; the sensor readings take up a lot of space. That project lasted for nearly a year. The laptop is a real trooper; it traveled to 25 worlds with SG-1 and two other teams analyzing the outgoing ends of the wormholes while a larger version at the SGC analyzed the originating end of each wormhole in the Gate Room. It worked reliably, and simply. Since it was available, we commandeered it along with six empty drives and two filled with MALP date, UAV footage and mission reports.

All the star mapping information and digital pictures created on this trip will be placed on the storage drives along with other mission in. As fascinating at this is, Dr Brent's equipment is beckoning.

Pushing off from my perch, I feel the rough stone sliding under my butt until my boots jar against the forgiving sand it's buried in. Weaving through the throng of busy bodies toward the Team's astronomer, I feel a rush of anticipation. The night sky here is so beautiful, I feel privileged to be allowed to see it again. But best of all, I now get to act as tour guide to someone who will be just as excited by the sight as I am. Sweet!

"Here, let me give ya a hand."

Damn, he looks startled. What did Carter tell him about me? He nods yes, yet his face now has this worried expression. He stands defensively, a few steps from me, watching. Shaking off the idea that this man might be afraid of me, I place a hand on one of the shock cases. Then a thought occurs to me.

"Are you going to set up here?"

"Ah, no, but camp is over here."

Glancing back the way we came, I point to the knoll top between the ramp and us.

"Up there would be the best place to set up your equipment, it can be tarped over during the day to protect it."

He pauses to think about my words, and then timidly asks.

"Shouldn't we ask Lt. Van Sickle before doing that?"

Well… that hadn't occurred to me and maybe it should have, I reach for my radio and key it.

"Lt. Van Sickle. Colonel O'Neill here _Sir_."

"_Go ahead."_

The kid's getting good, couldn't tell anything by his voice that a colonel was calling for permission to proceed and hadn't knocked him for a loop. Just a quick explanation gets me an answer.

"_Sounds good Colonel, you have a go. Just don't forget why you're here, okay?"_

There was something in his voice that time. He was amused. Good for him.

"Well, Doc, let's go set up your observatory."

With the FRED's remote firmly in my hand, I began trundling it up to the top of the knoll; I kept the speed low to allow Dr Brent an easier walk. Once at the top, I questioned him about how he would like his equipment set up. After he described his general plan, I made a few suggestions that he gratefully incorporated into his makeshift observatory. While I worked, I tried to put his fears to rest by prattling on about what the sky looked like the last time I'd been here. He eventually got over his trepidation and eagerly questioned me about every little thing he could think of.

I did find out that Carter had told him that I could operate observatory level telescopes, knew my way around CCD's, navigation programs, telescope aiming programs and star charts. I hadn't realized that I had let that much information slip to her about me. Maybe Daniel told her?

As for knowing all of that, I am an aviator ya know. Some of those things I know because it's part of my job, the rest is part of an old childhood passion.

Sputnik hadn't been launched yet when I first started watching the sky; I remember a clear, bright night sky before air or light pollution, before satellites, before live television. You know, back in the Stone Age. Watching is still something I do; only now I try to find the star our last mission visited. I don't always find it, but I try.

It's therapy now; I find the star and push all the bad stuff out to it. Imagining it falling into the star's gravity well and getting trapped there, unable to visit me in the long dark hours of the night. This practice allows me a modicum of peace, which is more than enough reason to continue it.

Most of my day is spent up on the knoll setting up equipment with Dr Brent protesting all the way. The work doesn't bother me and I get a sort of perverse pleasure out of the man's half-hearted protests laced with words of gratitude. He is interesting to listen to and at one point, I hear him mutter, 'Samantha warned me.' Grinning to myself, I wonder again just what Sam told him.

Near evening, I'd finished. Dr. Brent had long since given up trying to help. We talked while I worked; we both had a lot of interests in common. Stars, roses and flying. He has an ultralight, at least he did. He had to give it up. I hope to never be forced to stop flying, for any reason.

He eventually told me what Sam had warned him about. Apparently, I have a caustic attitude when dealing with scientists. He asked me why she would say that. What with me being such a help, he couldn't see why she'd say that. I reassured him that what he saw today was the anomaly and she was telling him the truth. Dealing with dyed-in-the-wool scientists was something I found hard, for very personal reasons.

He gave me a shocked look, until I explained that he didn't act like a scientist, so he was safe. I kidded him about me having to stay on his good side; I had only the most selfish of intentions towards that sweet Takahaski of his.

At his stunned expression, I winked and he laughed getting the fact that I was pulling his leg.

I'm glad Carter recommended him. I like him.

In the dying light, we walked back to camp; he told me that his unsteadiness increases the longer he's awake. So, he plans to sleep for a few hours before returning to his equipment, I asked if I could help him. Telling him all he had to do was walk up to my tent to get me up; I'd walk him up there. He's not used to walking that far in the dark or uneven ground. He says that after a few days, it'll be easy, but now, being tried and unfamiliar with the area messes him up.

The chow line was forming when we arrived, I helped him though it and got him settled before finding my own place. I had no sooner started chewing than Eric slid down beside me and silently started eating. I felt a warmth bubble up inside me that he chose to seek me out and felt comfortable enough in my presence as to not need to speak. We ate silently at first, then fell into a joking conversation reviewing the events of the day.

Eric stayed only as long as it took for his meal, he had lots to do before sleeping, something I didn't want him to miss any of. I reluctantly watched him leave, but consoled myself with the forthcoming delights of the night sky.

As Eric and the others slept, Dr. Brent and I soaked in the wonder that PBX 123 called night. And what a night it was.

The planet orbits a star that is above the galactic ecliptic and just far enough out on the edge of the galaxy and at just the right angle to offer the most spectacular view of the Milky Way. An oblique angle showing the sweeping arms of uncounted stars broken free of the choking clouds of cold dust that usually obscures them and the glowing hump of our galaxy's rotational hub. The added bonus is PBX 123's star is part of a small compact spray of spun off stars. They are close but not so close as to ruin the view of the whirlpool of stars before us, but close enough to be impressive.

Such colors these close companion stars have, every color of the rainbow, which impressed Dr. Brent. The color of a star is determined by its mass, and Dr. Brent thought that in a spray of stars flung out by rotational forces each star would have a similar mass and thereby all would be of the same color. Like flicking water from your fingers, all of the drops are the same size. However, the color range represented here proves that assumption incorrect. This excited him to no end. He started forming theories for it, reaching the conclusion that some kind of collision in the whirling arms of the vortex before us must have been the cause. Such a collision would be chaotic and conceivably create a trail of varied mass stars. Thus supplying me and the Doc with such a colorful view.

To see the majesty of our galaxy so unencumbered is humbling. It's closest rival that I'd ever seen for grandeur had been the huge gas nebula over P3R-336 nearly three years ago, that world being part of the Ancients' list of worlds. It was a graveyard for their dead, but the views were to die for.

**Major Sam Carter**

Damn!

This is bad. This is very bad.

Maybe if I stared at the computer monitor it would suddenly change. Or, that I would realize that I've totally misinterpreted the information.

Damn, nothing changes. It's still there.

The Colonel doesn't need this. Why can't they leave him alone? Every time he does something good, vermin like this crawl out from under a rock to complicate his existence.

How can such a good man attract so much bad in this universe? Hasn't he suffered enough in his life?

Thump! Thump!

"Sam! Are you in there? Sam!"

Daniel!

"Coming!"

After hitting the screensaver, I hurry over to unlock the door. Daniel stands in the hall, a file folder held in front of him. His eyes have that worried look, the kind he has when things have gone south. Stepping back I allow him to enter, locking the door behind him.

"Sam?"

"My computer is open to a high security file area Daniel."

"Any special high security file area?"

"Yes, the one we last discussed."

He held up a file and we both spoke at the same time.

"NID!"

We both came to the same conclusion from different directions. Abruptly, I sat; my legs would no longer hold me up.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"No. Are you?"

"Ah… No."

"So you found the NID at the end of your thread like I did."

"Yes, unfortunately. I also have this."

He hands me the folder and I quickly scan the contents and smile. Daniel must have been watching me.

"It's good news?"

"Don't really know for sure, but both are very traceable. I might have to involve Janet with the script. She knows drugs, I don't. But the money transfer should be fairly easy."

"I don't see a problem with involving Janet. How long will it take you to trace the money transfer?"

"I can do that right now."

Swiveling in my chair to face my computer, I back out of the secure files quickly as Daniel drags over a chair to watch. All the information I had gathered from the secure files is saved and I would show it to Daniel later. Entering the banking system, I found that I was going to be lucky. The transfer traveled through domestic banks, I won't need to use a high clearance that might get flagged and alert the General to what I am doing. This would be below his radar for now.

"Okay, here's the transfer. I'll make note of the originating bank and account number. We will probably have trouble tracing the owner of that."

"Because it's NID."

"Yes, they probably opened it illegally and only used it once. The transfer went to an account that was opened two years ago. From this, the only activity over the last year has been the receiving of the transfer four days ago and an inquiry less than two days ago. See, there's the phone number the inquiry originated from."

"Sam, that number looks familiar."

"Holy Hannah! The prefix is the Cheyenne Mountain Complex exchange. That call came from inside the Mountain."

"Can you find out where in the Mountain?"

"Yes, it's a direct dial number so the last four digits following the exchange prefix would also be the extension number in the Complex."

"Oh… that's the temporary quarters, the only people in them for the last week has been the group headed for PBX 123."

"And they and the Colonel have already gated."

"This means only one thing."

"Yeah, someone in that group with the Colonel has received money from the NID. And we don't yet know who or why."

"I'll check on who occupied that room and you should check with Janet. That prescription will tell us why I bet."

"Right. Then we need to talk to General Hammond, this has gone way too far now."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Damn, it!

Tiredly rolling over to stare at the green fabric inches from my face I wonder just what I had in mind when I picked this spot to erect my tent. Oh, yeah. Something about being close enough to hear any problems in 'tent city.' Now I'm paying for that teeny bit of concern for this bunch of geeks. Blurrily I check my watch. Jeez! It's 9:45 a.m., I thought for sure Eric would have all of them down in the tunnels by now. How can a guy get any sleep with all this racket?

Sigh.

Pulling on some clothes... just not all of them, I crawl part way out of the tent. On my bare knees in the sandy soil and shading my eyes in the bright light I peer off down the creek to the source of the loud voices. There's a knot of people down there, it's the arm waving that interests me. I'd already determined from the tone of the raised voices that something must be wrong. What could it possibly be? Did someone forget to pack their favorite toothbrush?

Creakily and slowly, as to give my knee a chance to adjust, I stand. Looking down I watch my toes clench in the slightly damp warm soil, reveling in the sensation of it squishing up between my toes. Ah, the simple pleasures. My left arm raises and reaches for the sky as my whole body strains after it, stretching out sleep-hardened muscles. A pleasant tremor courses though me as a jaw busting yawn erupts just as I come up onto my toes in my quest for the sky. Shaking my head to lose the yawn, I relax, coming back to earth and run a hand over my face. Feeling the stubble there I take the few step needed to reach my pack, leaned again a convenient tree.

With a towel over my shoulder and my shave kit bag in hand, I mosey down to the argument.

In fact, I mosey right though it.

However, I do see that Smooth Drake seems to be at the center of it. Eric is calmly standing, arms loose at his sides before her obvious anger. He doesn't look cowed, defensive or even pissed off. He doesn't show any sign of having noticed my appearance. Drake, however, does. She straightens and seeks eye contact with me. Sheez! I'd thought we'd gotten her straighten out about this. Refusing to allow her that contact I walk on past to the obvious remains of breakfast.

Thank god there's coffee and it's still hot. Bliss! I sip at my nectar of the gods and lift a few tray lids to see if I'll be luckily enough to have a decent breakfast. Not much left, but enough for me. Wondering how come we even had biscuits, I snatch one before wandering back though the still-arguing group as I headed for the creek. I had a date with a razor.

Behind me the voices calmed and I could hear footsteps breaking off in myriad directions. Guess someone won the argument. Finding a convenient boulder among the scattered army of them below the canopy of trees, I sat down to savor my biscuit and coffee. Since there had been no gunshots, I figured it would be safe to relax and enjoy the cool of the morning.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

My hand betrays my near overwhelming desire to shoot this woman by groping my left hip for my weapon. It's safe back in my tent; I really didn't think I'd have to worry about the two-legged animals on this planet, especially since I brought them with me.

"Major Drake you checked the tunnels out yesterday right after we arrived. You didn't mention any instability then."

"I didn't see any yesterday. I don't want anyone in those tunnels until the lights are up," Drake 'ordered,' at least it sounded to me like an order. Swallowing my exacerbated sigh I had to ask.

"Why? Did you see something to change our preplanned exploration?" Losing my temper is probably exactly what she wants; I have to keep my cool. Any sign of weakness now would provide that crack in my authority she would no doubt love to exploit and take over. No way am I letting the Colonel down by letting her achieve that.

"Safety, it's just what I..."

Her eyes wandered from their burning into my right, non-functioning eye. Catching movement out the corner of my left eye I flicked a quick look and I was astonished by what greeted my fleeting peek. Colonel O'Neill.

"Major, this was all planned ahead of time, you should have mentioned this then, not now." The Colonel's arrival was bad timing, I needed to keep the Major's attention to assert my command. The muttering of the others around us quieted. So quiet, that I could hear that distinct sound of bare feet pushing against loose sand, it grew closer. My eyes were firmly fastened on Drake, if she caught me looking away she'd be one up on me, an advantage I would deny her as I willed her to divert her attention back to me.

"Major?" Her eyes flicked briefly back to me. Then flicked back again. And again. Each time her contact returned it was longer. The Colonel stepped between us and to my relief he continued. I quickly noted he was wearing only olive drab boxers and a desert tan t-shirt, both too large for his slender frame. A towel hung over his shoulder and a small red ditty bag swung from his hand. He didn't look at me and I don't think he looked at Drake. He didn't speak.

Drake's eyes finally fastened on mine, she had followed the Colonel closely as he passed by. She looked disturbed, almost like someone had kicked her. I shrugged my face at her in question. A fleeting expression of anger passed over hers before she spoke.

"Lieutenant, it's just a safety concern I'd like to use..."

'Lieutenant?' Not once today, or ever yesterday, had she referred to me so respectfully. Why now? The lack of respect didn't really bother me; it must be hard for such a senior officer to take orders from such a low ranking raw one as myself.

"I appreciate your concern, Major. But all of us here have had specific experience with tunnels like these."

"I understand that, Lieutenant."

Her eyes tracked away from me again, O'Neill was suddenly stepping between us again, forcing Drake to take a step back, back to her position before he first stepped between us. Eyes firmly on his path he nodded before raising a tin mug to his lips, and then he was gone, off towards the creek. I noticed he had a biscuit pinned to the side of his mug by two fingers.

Drake's eyes again snapped back to mine, I refused to give her the satisfaction of having me remove my attention from her. Even though it was the Colonel, I ignored him in favor of holding the emotional high ground on Drake. She now wore a defeated look on her face, much like the one she had when the Colonel first ignored her entreaties to his higher rank. I had won. I could see it in her stance. But I took no delight in it; I felt I had an unfair advantage. She is a proven leader, unlike me.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I allowed my concern to overrule me. Nevertheless, I would like everyone to know that they should call me at the slightest sign of a problem. If that is permissible?"

My mouth puckered in response to the sour lemon look upon her face during that obviously hard bone to my position of command. I sympathized to a point, but I knew I would have no qualms in kicking her ass for this unnecessary battle of wills. A Major should know better than to openly challenge chain of command like this.

"Yes, Major that would be permissible. In fact, I insist on it." Since the others had hung on our every word, I felt no need to actually say so, they knew. Besides, it might give Drake sometime to chew on.

XXX

Major Drake retreated from our battleground post haste, all I saw was her backside, the same backside I had seen O'Neill watch so much. It was so obvious he had an unconscious carnal interest in our biggest troublemaker, much to his barely obvious disgust. He hid it well, but guys do notice this kind of thing, no matter how well concealed. I sympathized with his dilemma; we can sometimes be puppets to our hormones. Although, she does have a rather nice backside.

Half the morning and maybe half the day was lost to her insistence that no one enter the unchecked tunnels. Unchecked by her, I'm surprised the others aren't insulted by her inability to recognize that many members of the team can tell the difference between a safe and unsafe tunnel. She also wanted only lighted areas available for to the team. There are no lighted areas. And not even a word from her, no voiced concerns or seeking permission from the Team Leader. Not that she sees me that way; she even avoided the Colonel on this one. Just going to the ramp and ordering everyone to stay out until she gave the okay. She had even waited until I had returned to camp to retrieve a forgotten tool before doing that. So, with tool in hand I stepped from our small makeshift settlement to observe everyone topping the knoll on their way back to camp. Quite the surprise.

I was forced to radio her return to camp and wound up in a very public argument with the woman. She only backed down because of the fleeting presence of Colonel O'Neill. I can't allow her to disrupt the mission, but to prevent that would mean cutting her totally out of the group. Believe it or not, as much as I would really love to do that, she's a needed member of the team, so that is something I have to avoid. What really burns me is that she's a Major in the Marines, how could she jeopardize the mission like this? Is she trying to sabotage it?

Caught up in a whirlwind of directions, moving of equipment and three fast jogs to the tunnel and back, I now stood in the middle of our unpopulated camp. Only Tina Iron Horse and I are here, well... and the Colonel. Captain Iron Horse has canteen duty and is setting up the noon meal. It's the only task available for someone with only one arm. Since she is still learning to use her prosthetic. I check to see if she needs any help, only to have her wave me off. Her Amerind heritage shows in her stubborn pride at doing her task unassisted.

The others will be on their way back for lunch, so I had a few minutes of time. Swinging around slowly, I looked for signs of the Colonel. Finding none, I struck off in the direction I had last seen him. A glint at the top of a smallish boulder drew my attention; I veered in that direction and soon saw a bare leg just beyond it. Slowing I stepped lightly around the boulder to come from the other side. Nearly hidden from view the Colonel lay in the sand asleep, curled slightly on his side and head pillowed on an arm and his towel. Crouching down I studied him; relaxed like this he was even more handsome. Awake he appeared a rugged stoic adventurer and sometimes raving lunatic, depending on his humor at the moment. Now though he has a softer, boyish look. Women must pant after him. The lucky dog.

Leaning towards the sleeping man, I reached out to touch his shoulder. Then the world lurched.

Flat on my back and unable to breathe, I stared into the most terrifyingly dead eyes I had ever seen. With no knowledge of how I ended up pinned helplessly to the ground, I declined to move. I was scared; there was no recognition in those eyes, the same eyes that had so recently been my soul's salvation. Abruptly frightening eyes morphed into two familiar darkened warm amber orbs, which widened as the tan lean face visibly paled. His expression screamed horror.

"Eric..."

Whispered so low that I almost missed his use of my first name. I couldn't move or breathe, let alone answer him. I tried to tell him with my eye and face.

"Crap!"

Slowly the pressure across my throat eased as the Colonel carefully and deliberately eased back from me, each move exaggerated. Like a cat stepping on an unpleasant surface. I didn't move, but followed his slow retreat with my eye. Could he see my fear? I certainly could feel it. It must have showed.

"Shit, I would never... Are you alright?"

The Colonel's hands reached out, but stopped when I flinched. Damn, that was so not what I wanted to show him. My fear, in my mind, wasn't of him, despite what my body thought. My fear was how the hell could I be who we both needed me to be if I couldn't defend myself any better than this? In the blink of an eye, without any reaction on my part, I'd been neutralized.

"Sir..." I croaked out, "Ah, no I don't think so."

Jeez! That was absolutely the wrong thing to have said, the man may be good at hiding his feelings, but I couldn't miss the pain that passed over his already guilt-ridden face at those words. My smart-ass remark was backfiring in a major way. I sputtered out an explanation.

"No, I'm not alright. I was the perfect sack of potatoes. And that scares the hell out of me."

He rocked back onto his heels, his head cocked in obvious thought while kneeling before me. He was careful not to move, keeping his hands open and resting on his thighs. I knew what he was doing, making himself small and harmless, to reassure me. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I so hoped that he was also processing my words as I intended. Yes, he scared me. No, I'm not scared _of_ him. Somehow I just know that's what he's thinking. And maybe that is what I should be thinking too? Rumor has it he made rank doing special ops, that he is a trained killer. Cold and brutal. I really don't want to believe that.

"Were you? A sack of potatoes that is."

Huh? What does he mean, he did the tossing of this inert sack. He should know.

"Yeah, I was. You didn't see me react at all."

He gets this really strange look on his face and flushes just a bit before dropping his eyes. Damn, he's embarrassed. About what?

"Colonel..."

"I... Well, ya see... I don't know."

He looks right at me; I can see from his face that he's telling me the truth. But, what the hell is that? He has me confused and being so lousy at hiding my own feelings he must have seen that. His eyes and face lose all vestige of emotion, which _does_ scare me. He is shutting me out. Why?

"Kid, you don't know me." He holds up a hand to stop me when I begin to protest his words. "Now wait, you just think ya do. But I have a past you know noting of, a dark violent past. Doing some damn distasteful things in the name of freedom and the good 'ol US of A. What just happened here is one of the skills I acquired to survive that past. I'm sorry you had to learn about it this way, but I'm not safe to be around when I not totally aware. Scaring you was not my intent, disabling you was, I'm ashamed to say. I should have hurt you before I was fully awake to recognize you." He pauses to intently look at me, his eyes softening before continuing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sitting there, propping myself up with my hands flat on the ground behind me, I stared at him. Hearing about these special ops guys that can kill in their sleep and actually meeting one is a shock. Their skills are based on animal reflexes and instincts, and the only way to best them is to be better with the same tools. Hindbrain vs. hindbrain, the best animal wins. But I know this man isn't an animal, even having experienced proof just now. Even his oblique admission doesn't convince me he is one of them and his very embarrassment proves otherwise.

"Yeah, I seem to be. At least I feel better about being taken down. I heard there's no real defense against that kind of skill, unless you have it too. It sure would come in handy."

"You should be thankful that you don't."

His words are harsh, his face rigid and unreadable. I think this little incident shook him more than it did me. I guess; when I think about it, it ought to be. He did say he 'should' have hurt me, but hadn't.

"Why didn't you hurt me?'

His eyes reflect an animal in pain and I'm totally unprepared for that. Backtracking, I hope to ease that pain.

"No, forget I said that. You're uncomfortable about it and I don't really rate an answer."

"After pinning you to the ground I damn well believe I do. I really don't want this to come back and bite one of us in the ass."

He struggles to his feet, favoring his knee. Even as underdressed as he is, he's all officer, I'd think even naked he'd stand out as a leader. Taking his time, he runs a hand though his hair, disarranging it. Then, I have the strangest thought; a father would look like this on Saturday mornings after being pried from sleep by a loud television. That image I carefully push to the side for later.

"I'm not sure how to say this. Damn, I have no right to even think this. Well... I'll start at the beginning. Not many people know that I had a son. Yes, 'had.' I screwed up and left my personal weapon unsecured. He found it, and... and... he died. My marriage fell apart and I so wanted to stop living. The first Stargate mission was to be my swan song, a way to end it all without hurting anyone else getting hurt, to leave my wife some security in a world I destroyed with my carelessness. But I bite the big one. I lived because someone died to keep me alive. Long story short, I dedicated my life to the protection of Earth and my Team. Especially my Team, they became my new family. And I want to include you in that family. But, like I said I have no right to even think that. And that's why I didn't hurt you, because to me you are like a son. I would die before hurting you, or any of my team. I can't explain how I knew it was you. It's just one of those things."

The horror I felt at his description of his son's death and his reaction to it is gut wrenching, now he is professing to want ME to be part of that small group that pulled him from his depression, that gave him a reason to live. Does he see me as a replacement for his son? That I cannot be, but I do want to have him in my life. And I want him to want me for myself. He acts as if I would never want to associate with him, that he doesn't deserve to associate with me. He is so wrong. And as for him being dangerous, well, aren't we all. It's just the degree or method of danger. He's holding out a hope to me that I'd never thought possible. And he thinks I'm not going for it! He is in for a surprise.

"You've got to be kidding," popped from my mouth before I could think what that sounded like, even with the big, evil as Hell, grin plastered to my face he mistook my meaning. It was painful to see him so resigned to not getting something he obviously wanted, that we both wanted. "No, no, I want to be part of your little family too. I meant, are you kidding that I don't want to be. I sure as Hell would LOVE to be. Even if it's just a professional relationship, it's what I want too. If we develop a personal relationship too, even better. And I don't care about your past or how dangerous you think you are to me. It's what you've done for me that shows me what kind of man you are and I want to know that man better, even if I have to take part you don't exactly approve of in the bargain."

"You see, my past isn't so great either, I had a rough childhood, not that it looked that way from the outside. My father and I weren't close at all... then he killed himself. So, you see I too have a death haunting me. I can't go into any details, but when we know each other better. I'll try to tell you the whole story. Right now it's entirely too close to me, what with Dr. Means and all that crap. You pulled me out of that mire and I hope that my feelings for you are not just gratitude for that, I hope that we can be good lifelong friends."

I must have some how closed the distance between us; I was touching his forearm with a couple of fingers, scant inches of space was between our bodies. I could feel our combined body heat between us and hear his breathes, as I held mine, hoping for the right reaction from him. He had become too important to me of late and I wanted to know him better, to be in his presence more often. But he was giving me the skittish act. This I knew well, because I too was guilty of it.

All this time I had been watching his eyes, thoughts and emotions rippled across them too fast to comprehend. Then they dropped and I followed; he looked at my fingers on his arm. I had no idea how he felt about being touched; some people didn't like it at all. I thought I had my answer to that question when his arm moved; it dropped from beneath my fingers. I felt devastated that he didn't want my touch, but then a wondrous thing occurred, he gripped my forearm with his long strong fingers. His eyes rose to my one eye, and they were smiling as a grin spread across his face. My own grin answered his, growing wider as did the sensation of heat from my skin. I had to be blushing, why I really didn't know and could have cared less. He actually laughed then, amused by my reddening face. And I laughed with him.

"Kid you couldn't pry me lose with a crowbar now. Welcome to the SGC Family and hopefully to my personal extended family. I'm hoping to get to know you very well."

"Eric, please call me Eric. If and when you can."

"Eric. Yes, I'll do that. And my friends call me Jack."

"Jack. Like I'll get to call you Jack often, but I'm honored that I have your permission to use it. Thanks."

His fingers, that had a death grip on my arm during our words released, he swung his arm across my back to cup my far shoulder and he then quickly tugged me into him letting go. He was awkward and hesitant, but that gesture told me he was touchy feely, just not real used to doing it with me yet. I grinned ever wider and made very sure he saw it. He answered with his own grin.

We now stood about a yard apart, yet not apart. We were now avowed friends. Embarking on a journey of discovery into that tremulous territory called 'friendship.'

Go to: Chapter Nine


	9. Chapter 9

A Little Deadly: Afternath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER NINE **

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

The Kid isn't afraid of me! He wants to be my friend, which makes me feel about twelve feet tall. Pinning him to the ground like that, well... I thought that I had screwed the pooch. That automatic reaction of mine has always been a problem and I'm thankful that whatever part of me can tell friend from foe, somehow, this time decided the Kid was a friend. Charlie never was at the receiving end when it decided foe, for that I am thankful and hope that Eric has the same luck. And it is luck, because I have clipped almost everyone else I consider close to my heart. Crap, I wish I'd never gone that route in the military. But you know what they say about wishes and trying to rewrite one's history. It never works. Carter could tell ya about paradoxes and how bad they are. They work in this case too.

Eric left to check on Smooth Drake, he wants to talk about what happened with her later, in private, to know if he handled it right. Reassurance. I'm confident that he did okay, but I'll listen and tell him what I would do, right after I admonish him to always do what his gut tells him to. That's his best tool; I've known it from the first moment I actually laid eyes on him. He just needs to learn to listen to himself.

When the gang returned for lunch, the two of us must have driven those scientists nuts, taking turns grinning like idiots at each other. Anyone watching would have thought that we'd just become lovers or lost our minds. I don't care what they think about me, I've had worse said of me, but I'll tone it down for his sake. He has his whole life ahead of him, a rumor like that can kill a career. Then there's the regs too.

After lunch, and finding I have no overpowering need to cavort nekkid, I head for the tunnels where Eric's 'kids' are exploring, stringing lights as they go; I wander behind them, curious.

Feeling the size of the tunnels and ramps as my steps echo in the darkness, I realized that large vehicles could be utilized inside the complex. There was talk at lunch of a powerful passive ventilation system that Major Drake, my oh so Smooth Drake of the alluring gait, found that, from what was said, should be able to keep the air from fouling under heavy usage. If we could figure out how to get transports in, that is. Yeah, our snag is the ramp is too narrow. Who ever built this place would have been nuts not to use some kind of transportation, this place is huge. Maybe vehicles can be brought in by pieces and reassembled? That thought I tuck away for the future.

The first level consists of various sized rooms; the second level's rooms are mostly the same size, reminiscent of dormitories. The bottom level is obviously storage, even containing two enormous water cisterns. I drift though the tunnels, poking my head in here and there, just taking it all in. You never know just what kind of information you might need later.

I didn't have to wander long or far before I heard the hue and cry of excitement. Since its just excitement and not alarm, I took my time drifting in that direction to 'observe.' Letting the voices be my guide, I head for the back of the top level, passing Sgt. MacDowell who is busy stringing electrical conduit. She kindly hooks a thumb down the hall confirming I've picked the right direction. We both know each other and grinned foolishly in a silent greeting as I continued towards a faint flicking light in the gloom.

Stopping just outside the source of my guiding light, and remaining hidden in the darkness, I can see a group of excited scientists within the room. Ya just can't miss the waving of arms and the din of their raised voices. They're standing in a ragged loose circle, a gas lantern set on the floor in their midst. Distorted shadows gyrate across the walls, walls covered with carved relief lines and symbols. No doubt, this is the cause of their excitement, since all the pointing of fingers is out towards those walls. If the fingers were pointed in the other direction I would definitely want more than just my 9mil available.

Taking a step into the room, I'm surprised by a dark figure leaning against the wall just inside the room. I flick a glance sideways, my hand already on my weapon and I'm ready to move if need be. Lt. Van Sickle stares back at me, as shocked at my sudden silent appearance as I am by his unmoving one. I grin at him, quickly dropping my hand from my hip. He smiles back.

"Noisy aren't they?" I whisper at him.

"Yeah, I thought that I'd let it die down before asking what's going on."

"Good idea. However, if we listen, we might be able to avoid asking and then getting the inevitable incomprehensible lecture, or in this case, lectures. Oy! "

"Or, we might just look for ourselves."

The Kid smirks before snapping on a flashlight and throws the beam onto the wall he had been leaning on. Illuminated before us is a series of large squares divided into smaller squares. A very simplistic description, as the squares aren't actually square, but of differently sized rectangles. It reminds me of something.

"Is that this level?" Touching one of the large squares which looks, to me, like an evacuation plan minus the exit arrows. Eric leans in closer to peer at it, hooking a hand onto my shoulder for balance.

"I think you're right." He points to a third one. "That must be the third level."

I practically lean into the dry warmth of the Kid's hand, which causes me to realize just how long I've been without friendly human contact. I savor the moment.

Now it's my turn to peer at the wall. Yep, there are two really big divisions shown, which have to be the cisterns. Each shape has a double wavy horizontal line in their center; I draw his attention to them.

"Water?" I quickly state, watching his profile for his reaction. He turns his face to me to reply, getting close and keeping his voice low.

"Makes sense. That symbol is also over on the main wall too."

Gesturing past the still oblivious scientists, he begins to walk in that direction. His hand gone and suddenly I feel cold with that lost of human contact, I follow.Sure enough, the same symbol is there, actually several times. This wall, visible in the shifting light of the gas lantern is rife with lines; thick lines, fine lines and kinda pipe lines. Ha! I guess the 'pipe lines' are just really big lines, that instead of carving all of it out someone just used an outline and just like river names are on a topographical map, here a symbol similar to the 'water' symbol labels the 'pipe lines,' only the wavy lines are vertical. I gently nudge the Lieutenant and point it out.

"Air?" He whispers, as my fingers brush across the symbols on the wall, before agreeing with him.

"Makes sense. More sense than the rest of the lines do, I don't see how they relate to the levels though." Quietly telling him as I take a half step back to get a broader view of the wall. Some of the 'pipe lines' slope steeply down to the bottom of the wall. Beginning at the top I trace down them with my fingertips as Eric follows with his flashlight beam. We both arrive at two broad flat boxes with water symbols on them.

"The cisterns?" I ask squinting up at Eric from the knee I'd dropped to. He drops down close beside me to get a better look, bringing his face in close before speaking in a low tone.

"Water symbols, probably. But look." He points off to something I couldn't see before; he'd been standing in front of it. Vertical 'pipe lines.'

"Air shafts, we're looking at air shafts, ventilation shafts." With a broad sweep of my arm I point out what must be the flow of air, while lightly gripping his shoulder to keep my balance.

"Major Drake told me earlier that she had found a passive ventilation system, but didn't give me the details on how it worked. I should have insisted I guess." I started to stand, he helped with a hand under my elbow, I nodded a thanks and smiled to soften my next words.

"Yep, you should have. Always keep track of everything your team finds, you never know when it'll save your skin." Standing this close I could see he was a little upset and his next word confirmed it.

"Sorry."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it. You'll get the hang of it, you're much better at this than I was at your age." I softly patted his back and cocked my head to catch his eye. My words embarrassed him. So, I tried to distract him with a question as I let my hand drop away. He gave me a little smile.

"Just where did Smooth Drake come to the conclusion that the ventilation system existed?" I rolled my eyes causing Eric to nearly laugh; it felt good to talk like this. Unguarded, relaxed. Not having to divine what is being said was a relief, he was speaking to me plainly and up front, and he was hiding nothing. I could trust his every word. Such a rare thing.

"Oh, she was somewhere on level two. She found the same thing here on this level, which's probably why she and Denise Kent wound up here. Did you see the funny stone grid walls on the Gate Canyon side of the level?"

"No," giving him a puzzled look, I'd have to make sure and see this 'grid.'

"Major Drake thinks it's an air drop shaft and from looking at this wall it probably drops down to the cisterns."

He always refers to Smooth Drake as 'Major Drake,' but when he speaks of our archaeologist, Denise Kent, there is a detectable fondness there. Is he interested in her? Surely he knows better. But then, look at the two of us; our growing friendship isn't exactly regs either. Maybe I can get him to fess up and see if he needs a little colonel to lieutenant talk. Hmmm. Still with a tenuous grasp of the Kid's words, I snapped out a question.

"I wonder why? Only cold air would drop down it."

"I think that's the idea, the stone grids cools the moist air, dropping it down the shaft. Like evaporative coolers used in RV's. If the complex were fully occupied, keeping the tunnels cool could be chore."

'Jeez, I'm going to show my age, but I can't resist. I don't usually get to spout information.'

"Actually, they used to be used in houses before air conditioning became affordable. What happens to the water?"

"Water? Oh… the stone grids are sloped to drop it down the shaft too."

"Kinda strange, there has to be more than just this one drop shaft. Cool air can't of itself, move the volume of air needed to keep up the rate of circulation these tunnels would require. Has she found anything on the opposite side of the level that deals with warm air?"

"Very astute, Colonel?"

Jerking around I come face-to-face with Smooth Drake in all her pissed off glory. And 'this' woman gets my hormones riled! Even now I have a hard time stifling that lustful reaction she invokes in me. Damn, why her?

Arrayed in a semi-circle behind her are the other scientists, Eric and I were so involved in our conversation, enjoying our new camaraderie, that I had missed the sudden quiet behind us. What with the groin alert and being catch flat-footed I nearly spouted off a smart come back, only to be beaten to it by the Lieutenant.

"Well, did you? Check for…" Eric nudged me.

"Ah… the warm air part of the system," I snapped out, while avoiding staring at that little throb in Drake's long, pale neck.

"Yes, that, have you?"

"No."

"Are you?" Eric asked.

"Yes."

"When?" Added Eric.

Drake shrugged her shoulders in answer. She _SO_ needs a swift kick in that nice ass of hers. Inwardly I had other ideas about that part of Drake's anatomy, with brought to mind another 'smart ass' remark, which I never got to utter as Eric, once again beat me to the punch. Or, is that _punch_ line?

"_Now_ would be a good time Major, if you would please."

Oh, he's picking up on the sarcasm. The subtle kind, very polite, beyond reproach, the words swim in it. My eyes widen at his stance, he appears to be bowing to a superior, and she can't possibly refuse him without looking like a complete moron in front of the others.

"Of course, I was just going to check that out."

Smooth Drake's words roll oh so smoothly off that lying little tongue of hers as she causally turns and leaves the room. And it takes _forever _for her to leave; I follow every sway and dip of those hips, the bunching and relaxing under those taut shorts. Damn it's a wonder I'm not drooling. What the hell is with me? Remembering why she is leaving, I allow my dilated eyes to track back to Eric who is now innocently making eye contact with the others, an understated dare to deny his authority. None look away, but none glare at him either. They accept him as their leader, something that Drake has yet to do.

I love it. He's effectively exerting his authority without a lot of yelling and screaming. He's using his brain, the same brain that drew my attention to him his first year in the Academy.

The one that I guided to the SGC...

Shit!

...And right to that explosion.

With that, my good mood plummets screaming into the depths of my own very private hell, that hell, where visions of a naked Drake dances with all the dead who live there. And Hell forgot to pay the gas bill.

So cold.

Guilt and remorse spews across my soul causing a deeper frigid temperature, the flickering bars of darkness will either obscure or highlight my new pallor to the Kid. Stuffing my emotional outbreak to the back of my mind I try to recover some of the brightness I had just shared with him. He's still a little fragile and my reaction could trigger something similar in him. No way in living hell am I going to allow that. God, but this is hard. Fighting an urge to hyperventilate and fidget, I just plain want to run. Forcing myself to think good thoughts, I still myself and breathe shallowly, forcing myself up that slippery slope of despair.

Okay, …uh… when the roses first open in my backyard. Mmm… The view here, at night. Ah… the view back on the 'lawnboard' world, even the butterflies were great. Careful there, they nearly killed you remem… no don't. Roses, let's stick with roses. I have been thinking about getting a couple of new ones. I have the catalogs laid out in my office at home. The red one reminded me of Sara and the yellow one of Charlie… Crap! Maybe I should think of something else.

That hadn't been the best of mental exercises, but I feel the blood begins to pump again, the guilt panic recedes and I came back to myself just as Eric turns to look at me. He has a funny worried look on his face; I smile hoping to fool him into thinking he saw something that wasn't there. Words are good distractions too.

"Dinner?"

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

Sitting in my office, I rest my fingers lightly on the folder that Dr. Mackenzie left. Inside is evidence that Lt. Van Sickle is now being targeted by the NID and I know why.

"Janet?"

Looking up I see Sam standing in the doorway, a questioning look on her face.

"Sam, come in," I pull the folder toward me and drop it into my desk drawer without relinquishing my lock on Sam's face. Her eyes follow my hand's blind motions.

"Why so serious? Problems?"

"I'm not sure yet. What can I do for you," I ask smiling, trying to sidetrack her from asking any more questions. She produces a folder, which she carefully places on the desktop in front of me.

"Take a look at this," she asks sitting in the same chair that Mackenzie had occupied a few hours ago.

I reach out, flip the folder open, and just as quickly flip it closed. Slamming my hand down on it, like pinning an annoying fly down, I reach into my desk drawer for the folder so recently secreted there. Withdrawing it, I place it before Sam as she had with her folder. With my eyes I indicate that she open it.

We are so alike sometimes; she does the exact same moves as I had with her folder.

"Janet?" Sam utters with a questioning raise of her eyebrows. She leans forward in her chair.

"Sam?" Leaning back I shrug my shoulders noncommittally, I really don't have the freedom to discuss this.

"Where did you get yours?" Sam nudges the offensive folder she brought nailing me with her eyes, they harden with resolve. Sighing, I give in just a little; surely telling her would do no harm?

"Dr Mackenzie. And yours?" Tit for tat, your turn Sam.

"Daniel got it from Captain Cochran."

"Who?"

"The new head of Security."

"Oh, yes I remember him. He's hard to forget."

Yes, the civilian, gone military, in the name of patriotism. The military's been recruiting talented individuals from various expert fields relevant to the cause. Cochran didn't need to be drafted; he volunteered the first time he heard about the new program. I'm not sure that he knew just what he was getting into. He's an expert on keeping information safe, not chasing after rogue NID agents.

"That's what Daniel says. I haven't met him yet."

Oh, I forgot. Since he found out about SG-1 and the Colonel, He's developed near pathological hero worship. Rumor has it that Teal'c spoke to him, which ended what was being called 'Colonel Stalking.'

"Lucky you. But why did Cochran have this," I tap my folder. Yes sirree, lucky, she didn't have to meet the overconfident motor mouth, I didn't enjoy doing his physical; he talks more than Daniel.

"Daniel is checking into the therapist that Lt. Van Sickle had."

Now _that_ does surprise me, Jack would trust his life to Daniel. But something like this? Impossible. Daniel has a hard enough time finding his own office sometimes.

"Cochran was brought in at Daniel's suggestion and with the Colonel's approval." Sam continued, 'Where does Mackenzie come into all this?"

"Oh, I asked him to check into the therapist, the chart forwarded to me made no sense."

"So we have two people working on checking out the therapist?"

"Seems that way. But the really strange part is that each of them has the same document. That suggests to me that they may have joined forces and are working together. Dr Mackenzie never said a word?"

Just what is Mackenzie playing at? Is he back to that redemption thing again? I keep telling him, that his actions will eventually turn everyone's thinking around. It's not going to happen overnight and his impatience is not going to hurry things along.

"Odd isn't it? I don't think Captain Cochran mentioned it either. I'm sure that Daniel would have told me that. But can you tell me anything about the drugs listed on that one document?"

"Oh, yes. Very bad things. I couldn't mention my suspicions to Dr. Mackenzie and I shouldn't mention them to you either. I'll need to speak to the General before I say a thing."

"Okay, something is definitely going on and there seems to be too many people involved in it. Let's both go see General Hammond."

"Is now good?"

"Perfect."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

These cisterns are what has Smooth Drake so stirred up. Apparently there is a small tunnel bringing in the water, she recognizes it is a passive water storage system. Passive seems to be the go-word for the designers of this installation. Sure cuts on power requirements. Through a little math, she postulates that the tunnel originates somewhere up our creek's canyon. She wants in the worst way to hike up there, but Eric refused her. I catch myself watching her walk away again, her walk is… well, sexy when she's pissed as hell. I drag my mind out of the gutter it's fallen into to follow what happens next.

Then our archaeologist/linguist Denise Kent asked to go. She's kinda pegged as 'Clark' Kent in my mind. You know, Superman or in this case Superwoman. After all she passed up a Tok'ra symbiote, took the long hard route through her cancer, sixteen months of trying to hold her guts inside during chemotherapy. What she did awes me. She was told she had a zero chance of surviving.

Eric refused her also, mainly because she'd have to go alone, and she wasn't proficient enough in weaponry and off-world survival to allow that. Being a civilian and newcomer to the SGC didn't help her cause. And I wouldn't bet against him having all those months of recovery she endured so recently included in that decision.

The Kid's face isn't that hard to read, yet. I could see he really wanted to get the answer as bad as Smooth Drake, but was too tied up in his new responsibilities as head of this expedition.

So like a damn fool, I volunteered to go. The first thing every grunt learns in the military is to never volunteer. But I did.

I knew that Eric wasn't going to let anyone go and I thought that we needed to know what was up that canyon since it was connected to our vital water source. I knew it was important to the project. I was in a position of possessing the necessary survival skills and being physically able to check it out.

I convinced Eric that I would need three days. I would be back two days before our original return day. Giving him two days to decide to leave then or extend a few more days. I wanted three days to give myself plenty of time to explore, one and half days out before having to return. I actually found myself looking forward to it.

Captain Everett and Lt. Wong had yet to find any dangerous plant or animal life on the planet, none of the watches reported anything at all. I would be safe going alone. I was well armed and knew how to survive in the wild, even in the xeno-wilds of PBX 123.

Anyway, I wouldn't mind a little solitude. I'd been making nice with everyone and I find myself yearning for a little quiet. These scientists can be a rancorous bunch after a hard day of thinking. Besides Eric is doing fine.

My only regret will be forsaking Dr. Brent at night; I will miss the new finds.

**General George Hammond**

"You never mentioned that," accused Dr. Fraiser.

"I never mentioned anything. Remember you wanted to see the General, we went," whined Major Carter.

It was like watching a tennis match, back and forth, back and forth, ad nauseam. I couldn't blame them for the lack of decorum they were both concerned. They had quite a puzzle on their hands, which neither could discuss with the other, preventing them from solving it. It was time I put a stop to the tennis match.

"Majors, I don't think now is the time."

They each reddened as they straightened in their seats and faced me looking sheepishly pretty. I love 'women in uniform' they are so refreshing. Also less likely to come to blows unlike a certain colonel I know. I feel safer with the fairer, but no less strong, sex. I've never had a female officer ask permission to shoot another officer. It's a relief. Keeping my amusement to myself I rephrased their argument for confirmation of facts

"So, let me get this straight. Dr Means is a NID front and money was paid to one of the specialists that have gone to PBX 123. In addition, the target is Lt. Van Sickle. Is that correct Major?" Both officers nodded their heads in agreement. But I had a question, "Dr. Fraiser, is this about the Lieutenant's reaction to the Healing Device?"

Fraiser attempted to reply, but never had the chance.

"What reaction?" Carter broke in, "Uh, sorry Sir."

"Understandable, Major. This is news to you, Dr Fraiser can explain; if you would doctor." Leaning back, I nodded towards the petite woman indicating she take over.

"Yes, Sir. I do believe that somehow the NID has discovered that Lt. Van Sickle's physiology resists the Healing Device. If the reason could be discovered we might have the means to discourage the Goa'uld from attempting to enslave us."

"So, that's why my father had to give him two healing sessions. Isn't it?"

This time I was prevented from replying, glancing harshly at the offender. I was not noticed, but let it ride, just this once. O'Neill's 2IC in her usual very accurate deduction explained her own upcoming question; I nodded in answer to her and indicated that the doctor continue. Though from Major Carter's suddenly pleasantly pink complexion she may have realized she interrupted me. O'Neill must have the patience and strength of a saint to resist this strong, smart and lovely woman. Although, even I know that inside the man worships her, but would die before compromising her career for his 'unworthy feelings,' his words not mine. Such a shame really.

"Yes, Selmac worked very hard to heal what he could, but much of the healing was done by the lieutenant. The Healing Device was only able to do a few things, luckily repairing the eye itself was one of them."

"Yes, very fortunate. I gather that if this resistance could be transferable, our use as hosts would be limited. Injuries could not be healed; they would have to body jump too often. Is that correct Doctor?" asked General Hammond.

"Yes, Sir. As you recall it was decided to bury this information, no record of it exists. The Lieutenant was being returned to civilian life, he was too disabled under the current physical fitness guidelines to remain in the Air Force; no one was to know of this 'talent' he had, that was to be his protection. But apparently someone must have figured it out."

"We need to determine how far this secret has leaked and plug it. Or, our young lieutenant will never be safe on the world of his birth. Do either of you have any ideas of who might know?"

As my officers contemplate that question, I shudder to think what all of this will mean to O'Neill, he will no doubt take on the blame regardless of just how unwarranted that is. He will only see a line straight back to his decision to use that C-4 trick a year ago. No matter what he thinks, it was a good decision and I put that in my report. I sat him down and told him so, he just refuses to acknowledge it as such, and he sees only the tragic outcome. The stubborn ass. Thank god he's our stubborn ass.

"Sir, I really don't know for sure, even I didn't know about it. I'm sure Daniel does. Does the Colonel, Sir?"

"No, Major, at the time I deemed it prudent not to inform him. He... he had other things on this mind. I now know I made a mistake doing that. He could have been watching for trouble, now he may have been blindsided by my misguided decision."

Yes, that decision was a big mistake, I inadvertently hamstrung the man by withholding information, painful information yes, but now he needs it and I made sure he didn't have it. I wanted to protect him from needless worry and guilt and look what I've accomplished. There's absolutely no telling what kind of trouble he and the boy are in now.

"Sir, if the Colonel does sense trouble, his first thought will be that he's the target. He'll look after Lt. Van Sickle and his group as if they were all part of _his_ team, but he won't have the edge. With his attention spread among all of them and believing he's left the threat back on Earth, he'll be giving the NID's mole the advantage of surprise."

"Colonel O'Neill's been good at doing the impossible before, let's hope he's up to the challenge again. Doctor, any ideas about who would know this information?"

I asked the question to give myself a breather. Damn, if anything happens to Jack I don't know how I'll ever forgive myself. Or should.

**Dr MacKenzie**

Being the laughing stock of the SGC does come in handy. And as head psychiatrist, people tend to speak of things they normally would never speak of. Everyone knows that if I do hear anything I am bound by my Hippocratic oath and my Oath of Service to reveal nothing.

Yet, neither oath prevents me from using that information, for instance, making deductions from it to apply to my investigation into Dr. Means.

As such, I have surmised that Colonel O'Neill and the NID are enemies and that the NID will stop at little to discredit, disable or destroy him. His experience with the Ancients' archive alone is enough for them to target him for kidnapping and his political enemies would love to see him erased from their equation. The man only has the good of the Country, the SGC and our planet at heart. That alone would create enemies.

So from what I know of the Colonel, he, and not the Lieutenant, has to the target. And I have discovered, with some extremely inept help from Captain Cochran, that the NID is doing the targeting, using Lt. Van Sickle as bait, taking full advantage of O'Neill's recent guilty interest in the young man. Using the man's high moral fiber against him.

So flustered was I when I reported my meager findings to Dr Fraiser that I rehashed them to death in the hopes that she or I would see something that had been somehow missed. I didn't dare speak to her of my reasons to conclude that Colonel O'Neill is the NID's ultimate intended victim of the whole charade with Lt. Van Sickle. That would be revealing confidential information. I was ashamed that I hadn't discovered more about the nefarious plot the NID is creating. But, now that I have shed that buffoon Cochran, I do have a plan of action.

Raising my Long Island Iced tea I sip thoughtfully at it, taking in the panorama of the vast greens and groups of golfers roaming them. The weather is perfect for sitting under a sunshade on the patio while waiting for the other part of my twosome to arrive. This is just part of my meticulous plan. Slipping a hand down my leg I tug at my argyle knee sock, ensuring it is tucked beneath the band of my breeches while pointing my toes in my cleated two-toned, tongued and tasseled oxfords. I understand that O'Neill and I have similar tastes in golfing attire; only on him my stylish clothes would with a doubt look ludicrous.

Using the photographs that Captain Cochran took, and thus proving himself a _passable_ photographer, I made the rounds of my professional acquaintances with Dr Means' photograph. It turns out the man is a golfer and a heavy bettor on the score spread. Usually straight M.D.'s are more into that kind of thing, being so pressured to run patients though the mill they develop bad habits. Pressure is less of a concern in my branch of medicine.

Letting the breeze caress my face, I check my watch, yet again. He's late. Just as I planned. Through the very efficient, if somewhat unofficial, grapevine of golfer fanatics in the medical profession, I was able to arrange a meeting with Dr Means, using the fictitious fact that I indulged in heavy bets, was an even heavier loser and prone to spend money on playing partners. Excessively spending money in fact, literally throwing it to whom ever could catch it. Missing our tee time will enable me to complete my plan quickly. Ah, here he is now. I rise to let him know he's headed in the right direction.

"Dr MacKenzie?"

"Yes, and you must be Dr. Means." I waved him to the chair opposite me, the one which had its back was to the world, all he would be able to see from there would be me. And gods, he wearing a poorly cut handmade Italian suit. Just how was he able to accomplish that? A blind tailor?

"Correct. MacKenzie, MacKenzie? I've heard that name before I believe."

I was afraid of this, we have never laid eyes on one another even when I visited his office, but his 'goons' may have described me and I had certainly given them my name. Heaven forbid if they somehow had a picture of me, this little sleight of hand just would not work then. I began a distraction to improve my odds. Raising my arm I summoned a waiter, a waiter I had already tipped a large sum of money to, so large that he watched me constantly hoping for a repeat performance. I would not disappoint.

"Brian, my friend here would like to order a drink, on me."

My new 'friend' ordered right up and wasn't in the least shy about ordering only the best. He is so pathetically predictable, I have him eating out of my hand and I've just met him. Truly pathetic.

"Dr Means..."

"Call me Bob."

"Bob... There is another MacKenzie in my profession right here in Colorado Springs. It causes no end of confusion, as I'm in private practice and this other fellow is some loony tune working for the Air Force out at Cheyenne Mountain."

"Loony tune you say?"

"Oh my yes. I had been contacted by the Academy; they were looking to staff their Mental Health Clinic. Which by the way, I hear you're the lucky fellow who filled that slot. Congratulations." 'Bob' nods, as if he were royalty receiving his due. But I digress, "To make a long story short I was totally unable to free up any time for them, I would gladly have worked as a consultant gratis if I could and offered to do so. But this MacKenzie fellow nearly had a cow when I suggested it. I was more than appalled by his attitude, I dare say. I was offering my considerable talents free of charge to help my Country's fighting men. It was shocking, just shocking I say."

"Sure sounds like he's loony. He must have been the guy who tried to force his way into my office a while back. I was out at the time and my reception people took care of it. They reported that he had to be physically removed from the building, ranting and raving about a patient I had been seeing from the Academy. The kid never showed for his next appointment."

During this little speech, Brian returned with Bob's scotch on the rocks. Knowing my scotch very well I could tell from the color that it was one of the premium brands, an extra shot. I held an unobtrusive finger up to my bought-and-paid for waiter, silently ordering another scotch for Bob, visibly sliding a large denomination bill onto the table, a tip. Frowned upon in the club, money was to never be seen.

As I nursed my very weak Long Island Tea, Bob downed endless extra shots at my expense, so many in fact that I observed Brian as he emplaced a bottle of that excellent scotch in the patio service area, cutting his return time by two-thirds. I slid another large bill out onto the table. This time I caught a hungry look from my 'guest.' Our talk soon turned to golf, we lamented our lost tee time, as if he would step onto a green in those soft Italian loafers, and vowed to reschedule. We were becoming best of friends, now was the time to turn the conversation to golf clubs, specifically the set in the trunk of my Cadillac. The most coveted set of golf clubs known to man. Bob declared he had to see them and I agreed.

"Beautiful car Mac, it must have set you back quite a bit."

He stood back, hands on hips, clear admiration on his roundish face. The deep maroon of the car shone like a fine ruby in the shaded extra-wide parking space. The space to either side orange-coned to prevent anyone getting near that perfect finish or be blinded by the gold work that would normally be chrome. I sighed at the sheer beauty of it. 'Bob' couldn't be all that bad if he could appreciate that.

"Not really Bob, it's not that bad when the owner of the dealership is a patient." He giggled, like a schoolgirl caught talking about bodily functions by an adult. Good, he's buying my act as a man with few ethics. Still I so wanted to tell him that my name wasn't 'Mac,' but that would ruin our bonding session. Pulling my key ring from my pocket I aimed it at my Cadillac. No fingerprints on this car.

"Ooohh, Mac, let me, pass 'em over. Pretty please."

I handed him the keys. What harm could there be? With a flourish he pressed the little button on the electronic door key, the trunk lid audibly clicked and then sedately rose to smoothly stop when fully open. Bob tossed the keys at me in his drunken haste to see what was hidden inside.

"Uh, Mac. Can you hit the trunk light?" I did.

"Uh, Mac. You have one of those hidden compartments?" I didn't and told him so.

"Uh, Mac. Am I that drunk?"

"Yes, you are," I replied as I shoved him hard in the middle of the back, toppling him into the spacious and completely empty trunk. I pushed a trailing leg inside discovering that he had lost one of his loafers. Ye gads, his foot was encased in a 'footie,' the man couldn't even endure going truly commando in his own shoes, he only presented the illusion of going sockless. Picking up the shoe with two fingers I dropped it on my captive charlatan; there was a bewildered look on this face. He spoke.

"Uh, Mac. Where are the clubs?"

"I lied, there are no clubs."

"Uh, Mac. I don't understand."

"I'm sure you don't," I said slamming the trunk lid. Well, as much as a Cadillac will let you that is. I heard a faint 'Ah, Crap,' from the trunk as I nonchalantly stepped around to the front of the car, slid behind the wheel, started the engine and sedately left the golf course.

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

Holy Shit!

What the Bird Colonel had just done could get him way more than court-martialed; I really couldn't believe my eyes. Throwing the SUV into gear I pulled out to follow that eyesore of a car he drives. Not too close though, he may not know what he's doing, but he's not dumb either.

Jeez! How much does the Air Force pay a guy like Mackenzie? All that gold trim is giving me a headache; I know I have some sunglasses around here somewhere.

And what does he do, he leaves the golf course and drives straight to Means' office!

Pulling past the alley entrance, I park on the street and run for the small parking area that he's headed for. I slip around the corner in time to see him park that dinosaur of a car right in the same spot that I used when I broke in that night. He gets out and pops the trunk.

My god! He has a weapon. Mackenzie has a gun.

Wait, it looks like he's just showing it to the guy, yep, he's slipping it into the waistband of these clown pants he has on. And only a clown would wear knickers like that!

He should check out O'Neill if he wants to dress right for the golf course, now that man really cuts a figure in those sissy pants. Not that he'd ever resemble that in a million years. No way Jose! Colonel O'Neill would be all manly man in a pink tutu and toe slippers, and he'd make it look good too.

Whoa!

Something just pulled across the alley entrance behind me real slow, it's gone, but that was too slow. Traffic here usually screams by. Sneaking closer to the action I use a dumpster for cover.

The Bird Colonel is pulling the Quack outta the trunk, and none too gently either. Ouch! Dropped the guy, that had ta hurt. Gee, I thought that he'd be too hoity-toity to be this... this... forceful. Maybe I'm rubbing off on him? That doesn't sound good; I need all my talents here, with me, not over there with him.

Yow! Jerked the guy straight up, by a handful of pants crotch; the Quack is up on his toes trying to relieve the pressure. I swear the guy's voice went up a couple of octaves. I think I'm gonna have to cover my eyes; this is just too painful to watch. Oh, he's... let go, he's patting him down looking for something. Means is now waving his arms over his head, what's that he's screaming?

Oh, 'jacket pocket.' Mackenzie has a set of keys in his hand, not his set, the Quack's set. Yeah, he wants the door key.

Dragging the guy to the door, puttin' the key in the door... propping the guy against the wall... backing up... huh?

Fricking Tamales!

Using both fisted hands I screw them into my eye sockets, just to make sure there's nothing there but my eyes. I blink and look again. Yep, Mackenzie just kicked in the back door and that door opens out. I didn't think that was possible, short of a weighted assault ram and eight guys that is. Shit, he had the key. What the Hell has gotten into him?

Means is now crumpled in a heap on the ground; he looks more than a little intimidated. Hell, I feel intimidated.

Flinching at the Bird Colonel's outrageously rude touch, the Quack is jerked upright. Again. Then with hand at the back of his expensive pants and one at the collar of that equally expensive suit coat, which will never be worn again, Mackenzie frog marches him into the building. It's lucky that this building shares no walls with its neighbors, because neither one of them is exactly being quiet. With a sigh I stand and jog over to the door to listen.

"It's dark."

"So."

"I need the keys."

"So."

"You left them in the back door."

"Tough."

WAM CRASH BANG

Jeez, did he do what I think he did; kick in another door. This is getting repetitive. And downright scary.

Checking for my weapon, I slide around the splintered doorjamb and into the dark hallway, I know where I'm going. Been here, done it. Oozing up to the now seemingly exploded into kindling office door I can hear the whining of the Quack.

"But..."

At that truncated reply and an audible gasp I sneak a peek. The Quack is sitting in his chair, but the chair is shoved in the far corner. He's cornered. Snicker. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle myself. The Bird Colonel is leaning against the wall, arms folded, one hand raised. In that hand is his weapon, which is pointed directly at the man in the corner. Gee, is this some kind of duplicate Mackenzie or something? Has he watched one too many Rambo movies?

Pulling back I resume listening.

"Here, call them. Set up a meeting."

The jarred dim ring of a violently moved phone is easily picked out; the words of the caller are not. It's just mumbles, even peeking around the doorjamb doesn't allow me to hear that conversation. Until...

"When do you want to meet them?"

"Now, if not sooner."

He was asking Mackenzie, now the mumbles are back.

"Where."

"Their choice."

Did I hear that right? Leave it to an amateur to fall for that old trick. I hear the dull clunk of the handset being replaced.

"This address in one hour."

"Good, let's go."

At that and the sound of an overturning executive chair I softly run full-tilt back down the hallway and dive behind the dumpster again.

This time the Bird Colonel has his hand fisted into the man's no longer white silk shirt, dragging him to that boat of a car, with a practiced flip of a wrist he aims and fires, popping the trunk lid. Just as it reaches full extension, Mackenzie shoves the Quack back into it, and then impatiently tries to hurry the lid closed. He climbs into the caddy and leaves.

Jumping up, I run to my SUV and follow; he's barely in sight as I manage to get out into the street. Cutting off a few cars, I reach a good place to follow unobserved. Checking the mirrors I see a large dark truck do a few crazy wobbles over the line, on both sides. Drunks are everywhere.

This whole thing has me worried. Mackenzie has made a beginner's mistake of allowing them to set the place of the meet. He's walking into a trap and doesn't know it. It's a good thing that I've been watching him. Something told me he was gonna be the wild card in this little pursuit for justice. And he's proving himself to be that, in a big way.

He'll walk into that trap and I'll be right behind him watching his ass.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Crouched in that gray dark just before dawn, I thoughtfully chew my tasteless MRE. They don't actually taste like chicken, unless it's cardboard a chicken died on. Watching as the sky lightens I'm reflecting on everything I had told the kid, I knew that I had to let him lead, and standing behind him all the time sure as hell wasn't going to help him in the confidence department. This would be good for him. Maybe a little tough on me, all that walking and all, but I was the best choice for this little trip.

Smooth Drake worried me a little. Naw, she couldn't be stupid enough to pull any shenanigans in my absence. She'd try to push the kid around some. He'd better push back!

Shaking such thoughts from my head I climb to my feet, I can hear faint stirrings among the closely clustered tents of the scientists. Sounds probably made by those unlucky few with kitchen duty dressing to begin breakfast.

Pulling my pack from its resting place on the sandy soil of my solitary and now empty camp, I shrug into the straps, getting it settled over my vest. Hefting the P90 I check it, more by feel, for its readiness as I hook it into the support straps. I test my freedom of movement, adjusting tensioning straps here and there until I find a comfortable medium.

Pausing I survey the camp slowly and find it secure.

With no other reason to delay, I carefully angle my path toward the creek. The air is lighter now, giving way to that time of day when sharp shadows are the rule, that time just before the first blindingly direct light of the rising sun, or in this case this planet's star.

I step into the dark canyon as day strikes the camp behind me.

There are boulders everywhere, most are about knee high, and some few are the size of small cars with the occasional Dodge Dually. The stream has dug a narrow channel into the fist-sized cobbles carpeting the canyon floor; there are drifts of coarse sand along the vertical stone walls. I find the going easier than anticipated; the boulders decrease in frequency as the cobbles grade down to a flattened oval gravel over the first two miles of my journey. It makes an easy surface to walk on. The creek is well behaved, staying mainly in the center of its canyon rather than meandering like it does down on the plains.

From camp, the canyon appears very narrow, but once inside the small flow of water and level, light-colored gravel gives a feeling of width. The bare stone walls slant slightly away from me increasing that feel. I wonder why no vegetation clings to the stone walls. There seems to be ample light for their growth. Could there be so much flooding that plants are routinely scoured from them?

I think back to the wide flood plain where camp is; it would be a fair guess that flooding is the answer to the lack of plants.

Through the stream doesn't meander the canyon does, it lazily curves in one direction then back again, not sharply, but sinuously.

Further on, I come across a short waterfall, about 20 feet in height, in the canyon wall; it's a stream joining the creek. The bed of the stream hangs on the creek's canyon wall, but from what I can see, the stream is flowing in open country above the canyon. The creek has cut deeply below the natural surface of the land here, faster than the stream has. I don't know a lot about geology, but I do know that there has to be a great volume of frequent flooding for a canyon to cut this fast, but the water flow of the creek is noticeably smaller above the stream. The stream is bringing in a large portion of the creek's flow.

Over the afternoon, I see two more waterfalls and each time the creek gets smaller. Each small stream flows from shallower streambeds, filled with trees, bushes and plants of all sorts. These small streams appear to seldom see flooding as the vegetation grows practically over them.

It isn't until the end of the first day that I notice the constricting of the canyon.

Knowing that darkness will come suddenly, I begin to look for a place to camp for the night. I have a bad feeling about camping in the creek's canyon and am relieved to find yet another stream enter around the next curve of the stone walls. This stream only falls about six feet to the canyon floor and has dropped boulders, trees and rocks to form a debris pile below what may have once been a large waterfall. I use the pile to clamber up out of the canyon and into the streambed.

This stream is different than the rest; its bed is deeper, steeper and clear of vegetation in a 30-foot wide swath down which the stream flows. In the dying light, I see piles of dead brush and trees that have been uprooted sometime in the past by flooding. More evidence of frequent flooding, but this only contributes, as the creek canyon below continues as bare-walled above the entrance of this stream as it does below it.

Moving upstream, out of sight of the other canyon, I find a stretch of bare rock standing out into the streambed and slightly higher than the brush behind it. It's surrounded on three sides by water; this stream has dug a deep pool before plunging into the creek canyon. This rock is high ground. It's an ideal site for my night camp, as I cannot set a guard other than a trip line. Building a fire here will be safe and easy; all that dead wood along the stream will help. I set about gathering wood close to where I'll build a fire and sleep tent-less this night.

My last act is setting up a wire across any approaches that animals might use. Touching the line will cause small metal bells to jingle. It's low tech, but it works.

I have my fire lit just as darkness settles, my MRE heats at the edge; I mix up some instant coffee. I would prefer some of Daniel's brewed coffee, but this will do in a pinch. I purchase this instant off base, just one of the little luxuries I indulge in. Like the little bags of freeze-dried peaches I've been saving for a special occasion, such as tonight.

I have the hardest time keeping Teal'c of all people away from them; he's incorrigible in their regards. That's why I got him a case of them last Christmas along with freeze-dried ice cream for Rya'c.

It's funny, I carry these little items for my own enjoyment, but I rarely get to. I wind up giving most of it away to children or even grownups along the way. The people I meet may not understand what I say but they understand the enjoyment they get from little treats like this. Daniel showed me that back on Abydos. Who would have thought that a candy bar would be so well received by people on another planet?

After cleaning up from eating, I settle down for the night. I'll sleep ready to move, boots-on style. Reclining back onto the top of my unopened sleeping bag and using my jacket as a pillow, I enjoy the stars above me and miss Dr Brent, _and_ his telescope.

I don't know why I would want to spend that kind of money on a telescope, my Vixen wasn't cheap and it's a good scope. I have the tracking motors and computer control hooked to a laptop that is stored in my attic space, a space that doubles as a garage for the telescope. Like I leave that on the roof deck all the time! I have a little hatch big enough for it or me on the deck; I just slide it out or in as the need arises. It's convenient to run the controls through too. I don't have to come up from below, there's a lock on the hatch I can even go in that way, if I've left the ceiling access door below unlatched that is.

I have a small inexpensive CCD. Ha! Like there is such a thing, digital cameras are still expensive. For that I dropped a line through the attic and into my office to my computer there: bigger brain, more storage and giant monitor. I can watch the sky in the winter that way, I do live in the mountains of Colorado, and it gets cold.

I described my setup to Dr Brent. He was impressed. He told me about his setup at home too, giving me a few pointers that I'd like to implement when I get home. We swapped tales about our exploration of the heavens.

I'm glad that he got to see the sky of this world and I feel privileged to have met him.

Looking up I marvel again at the beauty of our home galaxy, no picture could ever capture that kind of beauty. It's something that needs to be seen in person.

My eyes drift shut, I sleep a rare peaceful night. Only gentle dreams visit me here in this womb of alien life.

**XXX**

My night's rest was good. Even waking frequently there was nothing to alarm me, making returning to sleep easy.

Dozing in the gray dawn I'm curiously lazy, as I lay listening to the alien forest around me. This world is so much quieter than Earth; PBX 123 holds precious little animal life. Another of those puzzles found here.

Just as color returns to the world, I receive a surprise. Near the stream, standing, scenting the air as would any deer on Earth, are alien 'deer', delicate and about the size of house cats. Slender tapering legs ending in splayed flattened hoofs, good for support over marshy or sandy ground. Size is not the only thing they share with cats; imagine an ocelot's fur on a deer.

Watching, I hardly breathe. I'm startled and in a blink of an eye, they were gone, springing in ground-eating bounds back into the dense forest. A dark shape whistled through the space where they had stood. A type of avian raptor, maybe the only predator this world possessed. So fast was its passage I only had an impression of two leathery wings; talons and feathers left me.

With the excitement of awakening over, the matter at hand is foremost in my thoughts. The canyon still needed exploring, and traces of the long gone occupants of the base we covet are yet to be found. Two days are left to me and I would need one to return, only half of the third could be used to explore. Leaving my pack here and traveling light would extend my range in the limited time I have left.

To discourage the curiosity of the wildlife in my equipment I slung the pack up in one of the leafy trees. So with only a canteen attached to my belt and vest stuffed with food I adjusted the weight of my weapon against my chest to face the climb back down into the creek canyon.

Once reaching the canyon floor I stood and looked around, it had been dim when I climbed out yesterday and hadn't noticed that the stone of the walls was no longer the dull black green, but had lightened into a dark buttery brown, becoming smoother and shinier. The canyon was now only 100 feet across.

Yesterday, in ten hours I covered maybe 15 miles through the canyon, much less than that in a straight line. Carrying a lighter load today and with good ground, I might be able to do nearly that in half the time, if I was lucky. Luck is something that I have plenty of, just not the kind I really want.

In only half a mile, that luck begins to make itself known to me. The canyon gives every indication of becoming a slot canyon and this worries me. Slots can be dangerous places.

The creek is barely a trickle now; other streams I've passed on my walk contribute more water, but from less eroded side canyons. This creek's little trickle must become a torrent on a regular occasion to have carved such a deep and narrow bed.

Soon the walls begin to lean inward over my head, the gravel is nothing more than coarse sand standing in isolated drifts on the bare stone.

As the canyon narrows the stone of its floor takes a turn for the worse. Looking much as ice would after having warm water run over it, leaving it sharp, smoothly pitted and peaked. Walking becomes a struggle on the glassy, sharp stone. Completely gone is any safe footing, having the canyon walls now within arms length helps.

However, I am extremely nervous being here, glancing upward to the small ribbon of gold-green sky I look for clouds, finding none doesn't relieve my nervousness. Not knowing how far the creek extends into the mountains still leaves the chance that a distant rain storm could rapidly fill this stony slot of a canyon with water.

Struggling up an especially rough, steeply climbing narrow section of stone, I trip. Desperately twisting my body on the way down, I don't want to land on my weapon, I fall hard against the stone as my outstretched arm meets nothingness. My instinct is to scramble backwards, a futile move while lying on my side on such an uneven surface. Snatching my arm back and snugging the P90 closer, I wiggle around to get a better look at the void.

I'm hanging high up the wall of a huge u-shaped canyon. I blink in surprise.

Leaning out a little, I roll onto my back and look up studying the creek canyon walls. Twisting back to lie on my stomach I glance to either side of me studying the connection the creek canyon has with this much larger watercourse.

This explains why the creek had dried up long ago. Its canyon is a crack in the bigger canyon's wall and probably only when the water is extremely high does any enter it to rush towards the plains many miles behind me. I realize that this represents a very strange continental divide.

The new canyon's floor is nearly a 100 feet below me, beyond the range of my climbing rope, even if I had it. Climbing down would be hazardous, I can see some holds, but I'd have to strip down to nothing more than BDU's to get down there and bare feet, my hiking boots would prevent me from getting the necessary purchase to ease down that vertical face of stone. It's just not worth the risk.

The creek canyon is a vertical fissure in the outside bend of the larger canyon; the water pressure must be tremendous when the water is trying to force itself past this wall. I unhook and snug the P90 to my side, nearly lying on it. Squirming forward, I lean out as far as I can. The walls of the canyon are worn smooth by the passage of water.

What's that?

Leaning out and planting a hand on the rock below me, I look down and maybe 50 feet below and 20 feet downstream, there are perfectly round shadows. Inching backwards into the creek canyon and I dig my monocular out of my vest. Ouch! I carefully check the monocular for damage; I had landed hard on the sharp rough stone and objects stored in my vest dug into me with some force during the impact. Pulling my tee out at the neck I tried to see what damage had been done. Nothing showed, yet, but I could feel the dull ache of a least one killer bruise. I was lucky; a little closer to the edge and I'd have fallen into the canyon.

With the monocular I have a better view of those shadows, which resolved into holes in the glass smooth rock. Unnatural round holes, these must be the water inlets for the cisterns back at the tunnel complex. There are three small holes, about a foot in diameter and one big one, probably four feet across.

Inspecting the wall of the canyon, I discover another large hole lower down, close to the canyon bottom and two more small holes. I have no idea why so many holes and at different levels. I continue scoping out the walls for any other indications of intelligence at work and find none. My hopes of finding an easy way down into the canyon were dashed, no alien carved steps. And there weren't any back in the tunnels either.

Hearing the rustle of a breeze, my skin chills in a sudden swift shadow; I glance upwards to the sky above the large canyon -- clouds.

Go to: Chapter Ten


	10. Chapter 10

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER TEN **

**Dr MacKenzie**

Changing my shoes during my conversation with 'Bob' was a stroke of genius; I would have surely damaged one of my golf shoe cleats on that first door, not to mention the carpeting in my Cadillac. That door went down so easily, it was amazing, and this is the first time I've been able to use my jujitsu training in real life. After 30 years of practice it finally came in handy, too bad it was just to knock down a defenseless door. However, my training reminds me that violence is the last of all resorts; physical confrontation is to be avoided.

This is why I adopted the opposite attitude in my role-playing as to more easily command 'Bob's' attention and compliance to my wishes. It was rather invigorating, analyzing my physical and mental reactions during that exercise will give me new insights into the inner workings of some of the more, ah... physically demonstrative officers under my watchful eye.

I wonder if my testosterone levels have risen? Can one feel virility? Hmmm, wasn't there sometime about accelerated hair growth during strenuous exercise while having... ah, cough, intimate contact with the opposite sex. I'll have to check the literature.

Surveying traffic carefully, as I am loath to damage my Cadillac, I scan the address Dr Means procured... yes, I know right where this is. It is only about 20 minutes away from here, an abandoned food market in a section of Colorado Springs that is being cleared for yet another freeway exchange.

Glancing into the mirrors and finding no one close enough to endanger the gleaming finish of my pride and joy, I slide in a Benny Goodman disc, he may be just a tad before my time, but excellent music transcends time.

By using reverse psychology on the Charlatan, I insured that his 'goons' would be waiting; only I will park elsewhere and walk my friend 'Bob' to the appointed meeting place. Get the lay of the land so to speak, gain the high ground, and hold the advantage, scope out the situation. All by coming at them from behind. And early.

The wail of Benny's trumpet though the surround sound system has somehow attained a new quality, I have heard this piece many times, but today it sounds much more... more... exciting today. Could I be experiencing an adrenaline rush?

Silently I count my pulse, mentally storing away the information with all of the sensations that I have experienced during my role-playing.

Choosing Colonel O'Neill as my model for this instance will help me achieve his forgiveness sooner... I hope.

It took me some time to realize that Colonel O'Neill is an excellent leader and soldier; he just hides behind a persona that would make anyone in my profession cringe. He is in danger of having a mental breakdown, just as I predicted, but the man seems to have somehow developed a coping mechanism that rewrites the rules of mental health. Studying him could well lead me into advancing psychiatry to new levels, but just how to discover that mechanism is the challenge. It would seem that his inability or reluctance to speak of past traumas is part of his brand of coping. I, for one, have no wish to accelerate his eventual breakdown by depriving him of this tool or forcing him into a position he cannot cope with.

A street sign jars me from this line of thought and back to my mission at hand, Colonel O'Neill is a fascinating subject, but I have a task to perform.

Relaxing back into the fully adjustable milk cream leather seat I slowly drive by the address in question, checking for vehicles, and as expected there are none. A bright red SUV crosses the intersection behind me hurrying in another direction, nothing to worry about.

Ahead, a large dark colored truck crosses the intersection I'm headed for, going in the direction I want to go to get behind the old food store, I slow down allowing that traffic to widen the distance. Just in case.

Making a left I continue along the block until I reach the alley I remember, slowly easing my resplendent steed into the dim orifice while flicking on the parking lights to lighten the gloom between the buildings. Nothing obscures the entrance behind me and I can discern nothing ahead of me, not followed or anticipated. Good.

Ah, right there is the pull-in that a shallower building makes in the alley, tenderly I slide the Cadillac into it, giving myself plenty of room to get to the trunk.

Squeezing out into the cramped space to exit my car I feel a strange perverse humor overwhelm me.

Is this yet another reaction to my recent role-playing activities?

Standing before the closed trunk I actually knock on the lid loudly and announce: "Knock, knock."

From inside I can barely discern Bob's mumbles of protest before a muted answer can be heard.

"Who's there?"

"Who do ya think?"

More mutterings and a few thumps later he answers again.

"I hope to crap it's not Rambo! Let me the Hell outta here!"

"No, not Rambo, but a repeat performance can be arranged at just the hint of disobedience. What do you have to say now?"

'PLEASE, may I come out now, SIR."

Pressing the open button on my key ring, I wait until I can see him before answering.

"Much better answer, BOB, but can the attitude." Said with a certain pride of accomplishment, as I was trying for what I would imagine Colonel O'Neill would say under such circumstances. Just to instill further constraints on his behavior, letting him perhaps believe that this is how I am, not just an act.

Bob sits up slowly in the trunk, his eyes flick around taking in the area, but he makes no other move.

"You can come out now, in fact I would prefer you come out. We are going for a little walk." At those words his eyes become saucers of distress. "No, Bob. Not that kind of walk." I shake my head, how could he think of that. Oh, yes, because of the role-playing. No wonder O'Neill has little problem with getting subordinates to do what he wishes. I consider that statement, no the man doesn't rule by fear, but I think he is not above engendering it when it suits him. I chastise myself for the slur I may have not have said, but thought.

Bob slithered from the trunk, keeping close to the car and as far from me as possible, looking as if he would slide under the car if he could possibly fit there. Such odd feelings chased themselves within me at the sight of such abject fear of my mere presence. This could be addictive. Brain chemistry is still a mystery to science, I wonder if the Air Force would be willing to fund some experiments in this direction. If I could identify the correct chemical actions I could inhibit or enhance the behavior of individuals for the better.

With thoughts of future achievements dancing in my head, I grasped my captive charlatan by the elbow, tugging him along down the gloomy alley towards our rendezvous with destiny.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

I watched the skies.

Dr. Brent's specialty is orbital dynamics, but weather is his hobby. He informed me of the drop in atmospheric pressure. A big drop. With the warmth of the air providing energy and the lake on the plains supplying moisture, the towering clouds built. Higher than anything I'd ever seen on Earth and with the prevailing winds the only place they could go would be right over us.

We were in for a blow.

Glancing behind me, I suddenly noticed the creek's flood plain for the first time, comprehending why it existed.

Our camp sat smack in the middle it.

Spinning around and keying my radio I trotted towards our home away from home. Damn, when will I learn to really listen to what these people say! We needed to pack, get to higher ground; I began calling everyone back to camp.

Now.

It took from mid-morning until mid-afternoon to move everything into the tunnels. Major Drake swore flooding would not be possible there, even if the impossible occurred she's discovered a third passive system, this one for drainage. I hope she's being up front with me about this and it's not just the local equivalent of the sewage system. If it's not up to the challenge our asses are cooked. Taking the Colonel's words to heart, I had examined part of the 'sewage' system myself just the day before. It looked like it could handle a lot of runoff, but I'm no expert.

Since the whole complex hadn't been checked yet, I wasn't happy about being in the tunnels, so I chose the most isolated rooms I could find as close to the upper entrances as possible for our new camp. Using every advantage I could think of to insure our safety. My decision was sound, I felt confident of that. It had to be, lives depended on it. My people and their equipment had to be safe.

Dr. Brent's knoll was now deserted, violent winds buffeted me and thunder vibrated the grit on the rock I stood on. The clouds began climbing the short distance from the plains, swiftly sweeping over me casting deep shadows as they moved into the mountains.

Standing in the beginnings of the storm, my mind churned, going over my assumptions and the steps I had taken to prevent disaster. Because, this time I was on my own, no Colonel to run to this time, I could ask Major Drake, she had experience. But could I trust her? No, no help there.

So much to keep track of, to think of. God, I hope I haven't overlooked something.

Lists clamor for attention as I mentally review what's been done, what could possible have been overlooked. Nothing. But to my horror a _something_ hadn't been, a _someone_ has.

The Colonel.

My eye focuses on the canyon entrance, he's out there. And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Knowing this doesn't prevent a building urge to rush headlong into the storm. To find him. The feelings stirred within me are so difficult to control that a foot actually moves in the direction he had taken. Panic rises; firmly I remind myself the man is very good at taking care of himself. His mission reports are proofs of that, I needn't worry, and he's had years of experience surviving in difficult conditions. Yet, that little voice of doubt throws up examples of the condition he was in after he 'survived' those missions, I nearly stagger. My face heats with shame, what would he think of the thoughts roiling though me now? Would he still want me as a friend, as a subordinate, in the Air Force?

'_Just do your job son, I know you can do it.'_

His words come from nowhere and everywhere, calming me. Giving me strength.

Large drops of rain, like painful stones, began to fall, swiftly soaking me; I stood flinching against the downpour, gazing up the creek to the narrow canyon, a longing searing my soul as I watch the viciously tossing trees throw off flying bouquets of leaves and branches to litter the ground. Even at this distance, above the howl of the storm I can hear their creaking and shrieks of protest against the stress. Many of them would not survive this tempest.

Such violence causes me to shiver; surely the Colonel had enough sense to head for higher ground. Yeah, but only if he knows about the storm whispers that traitorous little voice in my head, reminding me that in the mountains storms could occur suddenly and without warning, hidden by the very topography that comprises them. The Colonel could conceivably be caught by surprise.

What could happen is suddenly illustrated right in front of me, unheard above the noise of the tempest a tree tumbles down the cliff face, rolling a couple of hundred feet before quivering to a relative stop, it's passage marked by the broken remains of the trees it plowed though. How does a man survive that? How?

The horror before me roots me foolishly to the knoll and wantonly exposing me to the elements. Being struck by lightening and the pain involved was the last concern in my mind now. Seeing anything more in the maelstrom of spray, leaves and debris was impossible. Only vague blurry, dark or light shapes presented themselves. The rain running down my face and into my eye helped obscure the world further.

I blinked as one of those shapes loomed up beside me, startling me. Out of the strangely shiny shape emerges the face of Captain Marie Everett, our botanist, in her hands a rain poncho. She pushes her burden into my hands and I pull it on, trapping the cooling wetness against my fevered skin. She draws my attention to the trees we had sheltered under for the last couple of days, those trees so easily plowed down only moments ago. Leaning in close she shouts her words.

"Those are very fast growing trees, they prefer disturbed ground. Areas swept clean by floods would be perfect for them."

She looked concerned as I nod my understanding, and then quickly looked away, back towards our old camp and the slowing disappearing trees. Holes appeared in that denuded canopy of whipping branches as we both stared in the direction of the obscured creek canyon for few minutes, then as one we both turned and trudged to the tunnels to wait out the deluge.

**General George Hammond**

"Sir?"

"Sergeant."

"I'm sending, but receiving no signal, that's not all, Sir. I'm not getting any telemetry either."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes Sir. I've tried a couple of times. I'm running a diagnostic right now in case the problem is on our end."

"Good, but somehow I don't believe you'll find a problem, the O'Neill luck may be in full play."

Knowing my colonel as I do, I hope that assumption is incorrect. But it seems even on the most innocent of missions the man contrives to get himself into some kind of pickle. Nervously I watch Sgt. Walter Davis at work; he too is nervous and worried. He occasionally has to backtrack and repeat his actions.

Damn it! I expected Jack to take it easy, relax. He's earned it a dozen times over. I wanted to see him return though that gate bored as hell, not banged up, or betrayed. And it seems that betrayed is the flavor of the week.

Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, it's possible the MALP is just malfunctioning, nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence.

"Sergeant, have another MALP readied at the ramp."

"Yes Sir."

The Sergeant arranges for the MALP in record time as a clamor immediately commences on the floor below me, beyond the sheet of protective glass. But I'm more interested in the progress of the man next to me, he's not happy as he cracks a few keys in his impatience to get as much information as possible in the shortest time.

The deployment of the MALP seems to be happening swiftly, I have good people and they're not stupid. They know to what world we are connected to and who is there, just as they know that my order heralds bad news. All are deadly in their determination to provide as much help as swiftly as possible. Just as one of those lives on the other side would do for them.

"Sir, the MALP is ready."

So soon? Checking my watch, what had seemed an eternity took only less than a quarter hour. Glancing down though the protective barrier before me I visually checked the readiness of the MALP and personnel below. Never have I found less than I expected and this time was no different.

"Send it though Sergeant."

The next duty station from the Sergeant contained the remote operator who trundled the ugly probe into the still active event horizon, kept active to send a continuous automatic message requesting contact. A contact that has not been established.

"MALP in transit, Sir. Three. Two. One. We should be receiving telemetry."

The Sergeant turned to the next station as I stepped over to stare over the operator's shoulder at the visual the MALP should be sending back. Static. That was all there was to see. The sorrowful eyes of the operator, one Lt. Elena Mendez, met mine. We both knew that something had happened, and I was forced to assume the worse.

'Lieutenant, please check for any intact video frames or telemetry signals from the point of disassembly until confirmation of no signal, please."

The young woman nodded before diligently complying. She was very careful, taking her time, I knew because I watched her every move, except for one questioning glace at the sergeant. His barely perceptible nod assured me that the lieutenant knew what she was doing. But all too soon, her rich brown eyes asked forgiveness before she could actually say the awful truth.

"Sir, there's nothing to be found, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for Lt. Mendez, you did your job. There's nothing more you could have done. Thank you."

"Sergeant, list this mission as out of contact, low priority protocols for now."

"Yes, sir. That would make the next attempt at contact in twelve hours."

"Alert me when it's time."

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

Where did he go?

How could I lose that eyesore of a battleship equipped with enough gold work to enable the space shuttle to land on the dark side of the moon with a blind dentist as pilot?

He was only half a block ahead of me and then...

Hey, I bet he turned.

He musta gone left; he'd hafta go across three lanes to go right, so he went left.

Jerking the wheel over I catch the next left to the accompaniment of squealing tires and blaring horns. I wave a hand in a brief 'thank you,' eliciting another chorus of horns and gestures. A grin tugs at my lips as I floor it down the block to another left arriving just at the green light and take the corner smoothly and at speed.

Straightening out the SUV, I slow down, eyeballing the traffic ahead of me. No sign of it. I begin checking driveways, parking spaces and... an alley.

BLARReeeeee!

Jerking my bright red SUV back into the lane, I can't slow down enough to get into to it but I glimpse the glint of gold inside its dark length. Pay dirt! Nearly cracking a vertebra, I spy out as much information about the alley and its contents before traffic can sweep me beyond it.

BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP

"Hey, why doncha watch where ya going!" Stupid 'yellow' VW Beetle, hate those little bitty nervo-yupper cars. "Jerk!"

It takes me three long blocks and a scraped fender; his not mine, to work my way across the lanes of traffic to circle back. I do this twice more until I go past the place I want by five blocks to insure that I can actually get across the lanes to the alley entrance. Crap!

Lo and behold, there's an empty parking space next to the ally entrance. Slamming to a stop I vault out of the SUV and sprint down the alley. As the gloom envelops me I slow my pace and feel for my weapon. Just in case.

'You maroon! Walking down the middle of a dingy alley. Fully backlit. Jeez!'

Veering towards the right hand building I begin hugging the wall, making myself invisible to anyone inside this manmade canyon. From this side of the alley I have a better view of that dinosaur the Bird Colonel drives.

The only sound is my own footsteps in the fetid mustiness of the alley. Dancing glints of gold betray my goal's location in the overwhelming gloom. Crouching I attempt to see under the car but it's too dark to see much of anything, at least not dark feet on dirty pavement next to a dark wall in a dark corner of a sun blocking building in a gloomy alley. Sigh, life is never easy is it!

It's only the work of a few minutes to determine the car and I are alone here. There's only one place left to check and that's further down the alley, an easy trek.

The alley empties out into a narrow strip of parking lot. Before me is the back corner of a huge one story building, The alley reincarnates into a delivery lane stretching the full length of the building, glancing to my left up the parking area is an even larger parking area. The front of the building is set way back from the street it fronts. Windows rather than walls comprise its structure. Large paper signs are draped in those windows. Squinting I try to read one, it seems to say: Charmin 12pk 6.95.

Huh? Beer? I never heard of that brand... Holy crap, toilet paper! This is a grocery store. With an empty parking lot?

Not entirely empty, there are two big construction dumpsters and a bulldozer in a corner of the lot. Orange cones and bright orange plastic construction barriers drape the entrances to the lot. They must be planning to tear down this store. It looks and feels empty. Say, this would be a great place for a clandestine meeting. And, I'd bet my expired PI card that is exactly why the Bird Colonel and his captive chump are here.

This must be the meeting place.

Shit!

This place is _way _too open.

Hastily I dance back towards the alley and press my back up against the building there, eyes flicking everyway, trying to see everything at once. Panic is now my middle name. I bet 'Colonel to my Captain' thought he knew where he was going and never thought twice about the danger. Yep, too dumb ta know better.

Forcing myself to breathe slowly I watch all that empty space, nothing moves. This calms me a bit.

Okay, no movement. So no one saw me? This is good.

Well, it's good until my brain kicks in, reminding me that I see lots of empty space, but I can't see everywhere.

Huh?

Okay, the store, lots of windows covered in paper.

Squinting I try see from where I stand and can't. So, maybe something can hide in there, like people and a car. Hmmm. Hey, there's no windows in the back.

Pushing off from the wall I'd been trying to meld with, I run in a crouch to the back wall of the store. My intent is to meld there instead.

This time I draw my weapon, holding it loosely in my right hand, my arm extended along my leg to hide it. Taking a deep breath I push off to sprint to the wooden fence along the back delivery lane.

Extending both arms towards the back of the store I aim my weapon for maximum effect. No targets.

A few steps, stop, listen. Steps, stop, listen. Covering the distance to the loading bays takes centuries.

My foot makes a splashing noise. Looking down I see a large puddle, and tire trails lead from it to the first loading bay. This bay is street level; the others are elevated, strictly for the use of big rigs. All the bay doors are down, but there is a door next to the first bay.

Stepping around the water I approach the door slowly, here I try melding again, listening at the weather seals overlapping door molding. Nothing, not a sound. This damned door is just too thick. Carefully I grasp the knob, it turns easily. Straining I pull the door open just a crack and listen. Still nothing.

Now or never!

Swiftly and silently I pull the door open just enough to slip inside, drawing the door closed behind me. Dropping to a knee while extending my right arm I sweep the weapon in broad aces to cover any potential targets. Letting go of the closed door, I use my left hand to brace myself against the floor, gather my feet beneath me and slowly stand, backing up against the wall next to the door, scanning and panning my weapon all the way. Still nothing, not even sounds, as if I could hear above my own ragged breath and thudding heart.

Wait! Yeah, I do hear something. Only where?

Voices? My head is drawn around to face where all those bay doors wait in the darkness, but it's not all dark down there. There is some light.

Keeping close to the bay doors I cautiously place each step, looking down for debris on the floor, more than looking towards my destination, wondering if I'll actually see what I'll trip over.

The bays open onto a temporary load space behind the bays, only deep enough that reminds me of a really big hallway. The only division is a broad yellow safety line down its length, dividing it in half, like a highway. The loads from the incoming trucks must rest behind that line before being moved to another roll up door at the end. Down where a faint light shows.

My gasp is loud in the relative silence; I bend over a slick surface in front of the next to last bay door. Automatically my hands reach out to push myself upright. It's a car; I remember this car, from the airfield. How it seemed to melt into the darkness and disappear. It was doing a great job of that right here, nearly torn me in two and gave me away to the goons.

Their voices were clearer now and light leaked from the inside roll up door and a more conventional door next to it. And there's a ladder going up beside that door.

The ladder gives me an idea.

I was a box boy at one time. How else could I earn money for my Soldier of Fortune magazines? Mom didn't approve of them and would not let me get them. So, I had to do it on the sly. Anyway, one of the stores I worked in had a ladder just like this one. It led to a small catwalk, above the storage area. You could see everything from up there, but it was to access the roll door and that took up most of its length, luckily there was a small area to stand on at one end, a place for tools and such. I hoped this was the same because I was going to go up that ladder.

Hopping over to the ladder, since I'd banged my shin on the car, I latched on and hung there listening. Good, no one noticed the yelp. I began to haul myself upwards into the dark.

Luck was with me.

Note to self: remember to buy lottery tickets, lots of them.

At the top of the ladder was a square door-less opening. Rough planking subtlety gave under my probing hands. Moving out onto the invisible platform took nerve, mainly because there wasn't much in the way of a safety rail here. However, all of my nerves must have stayed, because I did get out there. Only a few wall mounted lights glowed below me, glancing up I could just make out the room's enormous floods, their reflector hoods gleaming dulling more than a dozen feet above me.

The room below me was square, too tall to call it a cube. Below me I knew was a door and opposite me, like a mirror image, another door. The wall to my left, the inner one, harbored yet a third door, which must have lead out into store proper. Only my wall had a bay door. The last or outside wall was bare as was most of the room, a few boxes and crates were scattered across the empty expanse.

Did I say empty? Well, not totally. Each door had a lit wall light just above and to the side. I could hear a voice beneath my platform. That voice sounded like one of the goons.

There was no way to tell how many stood below me, as the platform blocked my view, not even a good crack to peer though in the planks under me. There must have been some kind of sheathing on the underside or something. There was no one near the door at the opposite side of the room.

At the third door, and in full view, were the Bird Colonel and his buddy, Bob. The Doc had Bob on his knees, a hand knotted into the expensive ruin of a suit coat collar and his weapon trained on who ever stood below me.

Looked kinda like a Mexican Standoff.

Going down to my belly I wormed my way to the unseen edge of my aerie and leaned out as far as I could without drawing attention to myself. Shit, still couldn't see below me, who ever they were had to be backed up against the door or wall. Only heard one voice and I bet that both goons were standing there. They wanted their boss.

Since I was so busy being quiet I hadn't paid much attention to what any of them were saying, so since I couldn't do anything else, listening seemed to be the next thing to do.

"No way," a cold goon voice said below me.

"Then you won't be leaving here," shot back the Bird Colonel. Shit, he just threatened the guy.

"Ya gonna stop us?"

"I have this," the Doc shook his weapon, "And this." He shook Bob.

KABLAAMM!

Bob slumped to the floor and the Bird Colonel hefted his weapon aiming for the goon.

"I think you are mistaken."

What! Who the hell is this, that's not the same voice. My idiot colonel was gonna get himself killed and...

CRASH!

My eyes widened with further shock, which I didn't think was possible, as the door across the room bounced off the wall, a foot retreated into the darkness beyond just before a body was flung onto the floor under the light. A man with light hair lay sprawled there as the owner of the foot stepped into the room. The other goon. There were three of them!

Noises below me drew my gaze; a head appeared below me, then another. The second I recognized as the goon that had been talking. Him I knew, I couldn't tell who the first guy was, but he was better dressed than our dead Bob was.

A groan echoed through the room and dead Bob moved. Guess he wasn't dead after all. MacKenzie looked down, startled and the well-dressed stranger used that inattention to stride across the floor, goon in tow.

Damn, looks like Bob was only winged. Now the Bird Colonel was gonna get it good.

"I want them all dead," said the new guy, he turned his head to the goon behind him, his face thunderous. I knew him. Shit, he was the spook from the plane. Crap! This was not good.

The two goons started to point their guns at the stranger on the floor and MacKenzie.

"Him too?" the goon below me gestured towards Bob.

"Yes, he's of no use to anyone now."

MacKenzie made a loud strangled sound, drawing my attention from not dead Bob to him, I couldn't tell what he said, but I could see that he was looking at the guy on the floor, an expression of shocked surprise on his face. The man had raised his head and I heard the Bird Colonel cry out a name.

"Dr Jackson"

Crap!

**Dr MacKenzie**

"Dr Jackson!"

That name sprang from my mouth before I could stop it, echoing in the cavernous room and reverberated in the sudden silence.

All this time I thought the man sprawled at the feet of the second goon was some hapless passerby, but no. He was the one man on Earth, nay, in the Universe that I owed more than any other. The man I wronged. A man important to yet another man, I wronged. Both were important to yet another man, I wronged... This is pointless! Let's just say I wronged a lot of people who knew each other and have done with it. Now I have to figure out what I can do about it.

The first goon shooting Bob and then Bob's apparent resurrection was nothing compared to this! This man had to be protected at all costs.

I think I'm about to die.

Raising my weapon I pointed it at the man standing over Dr Jackson.

"Step away from him," I growled in my best imitation of Colonel O'Neill, filling my mind with truly angry thoughts, letting them show on my face.

Yes, pizza arriving two minutes late with anchovies can raise my ire. Finger smudges on the hood of my car. Finding the mirror knocked out of alignment on my Cadillac after returning from the Mall. Mother, arriving unannounced.

That last thought undid some tight binding inside me and I exploded.

I heard the shot, but continued forward toward the man lowering his gun to Dr Jackson's head, my foot connected and the gun went skidding across the concrete. My elbow swung into the goon's stomach. Vaguely I heard another shot and shouts behind me, but I had more important things on my mind. As the goon's head lowered I wrapped both hands behind his neck and accelerated his fall towards the floor, my own body leading the way. As my back hit the floor I brought up both legs and slammed them into the body falling towards me and pushed, hard. The goon's startled face appeared millimeters before my nose before it and his body flipped away in the air above me before smashing into the floor, bounced once, and then skidded toward the first goon. Instantly I was rolling until I covered the body of man I was giving my life to protect.

Maybe Colonel O'Neill will say something nice at my funeral.

Wrapping both arms protectively around the head under me, my body heaved in its efforts to supply oxygen. I tensed, waiting for the final moment, the pain, and the disgrace of not redeeming my soul. Attempting to wrap my body around the slightly smaller man I heard him whimper and felt his feeble struggles. Franticly my voice whispered, "Forgive me, I'm sorry," repeatedly. He had to hear me; he would be the last person to ever hear me. I just hoped he would survive.

Where is that damn idiot Cochran when he's needed.

Oh yes, I did a real good job of giving him the slip, real smart that was!

And just what was Dr Jackson doing wandering around unattended? Where is Teal'c or Major Carter?

Colonel O'Neill will curse my name for the rest of his life I know it.

Tears formed in my eyes.

Please God. I only ask one thing. Can I go anywhere but where my Mother will be? Please!

Maybe it would be fitting that I be forced to listen to her for eter...

Someone was jabbing me.

"DrMacKenzie."

...Ah, eternity. Yes, my hell on Earth to be my purgatory. No, I would rather burn in h...

More jabbing, than hands gripped my shoulders and pulled. I resisted. I became a limpet. Then I heard the impossible...

"Hey, ya idiot, let go!"

That voice shocked me so badly I did let go. In fact I sat up, nailed the owner of that voice with an angry eye, tapped my shoulder, and opened my mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. I know Colonel to my Captain. But hey, you're not in uniform," Captain Cochran was grinning from ear to ear and sporting a tickle of blood down one side of his face. A strangled grunt beneath me reminded me of whom I was sitting on. Dr. Jackson!

Scrambling off the man I was aided when hands gripped my shoulders and I was bodily lifted to my feet. Cochran had me by the elbow and pulled me away as Teal'c knelt next to Dr Jackson.

"DanielJackson, are you well?"

"Ah," cough cough, "Yes, just a little breathless," answered a red faced Jackson.

Looking around I saw that both of Means' goons were unconscious or dead on the floor. Bob was moaning in the same spot I had last seen him, but the leader of the pack was gone.

"Where's... ah..."

"He is gone. Escaped," explained Teal'c who was brushing off a wobbly Jackson.

"But..."

"That was my fault," Cochran uttered in a quiet voice, studying the floor next to me.

"How..."

"Your actions saved DrMacKenzie's life. As mine saved yours. It is regrettable that to save lives this day the key to this mystery has been lost to us."

Dumbfounded I looked at Teal'c as he began leading Jackson across the room, then to Cochran. What?

"Saved... How?"

"A most daring move. He leaped from above onto the man who would have shot you. In doing so he was stunned and as the man lost his weapon in the collision, he attempted to throttle CaptainCockran. This I saw as I entered and was able to prevent his death. Thus the third man used that opportunity to escape."

"You..."

"Ah, it was nothing that..." Teal'c cut Cochran off.

"DrMacKenzie, your deed was by far the braver, knowing that to protect DanielJackson, death would be your reward," he inclined his head towards me, a small smile on his face. I was stunned. He was thanking me and praising me at the same time. I turned to Cochran and found him in a stunned state, very close to my own.

"Thanks," escaped me, it took all my willpower to not slap both hands over my traitorous mouth.

"Aww, twan't nothing. Now if you really want to hear about daring do..."

Oh God, I'm so sorry. This is purgatory isn't it?

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

The storm roared through the night, the next day and died in the early morning hours of its second night. We emerged from the artificial brightness of the tunnels to assemble on the knoll. Tatters of bright purple clouds stream across the tawny green sky as the still strong winds push them. Below is a churning dark torrent of rapids where our camp had stood. Gone are the trees that shaded us in their place. Boulders can be seen slowly moving and occasionally tumble swiftly only to abruptly stop a dozen of more yards further downstream. A constantly moving landscape of destruction.

I send a silent prayer of thanks to whoever saw fit to cause Dr. Brent to dabble in weather prediction. The loss of life and equipment could have been horrendous.

The creek's waterfall is buried by a continuous sheet of water hundreds of yards wide rolling off the cliff. Whole trees and boulders are sucked over the precipice in the water's haste to reach the plains below. Gone are the meanders, the grass below half-covered in water, the swollen creek now traveled in a wide ribbon distending the distant lake.

Looking upstream causes me a fission of fear. Water surges out of the narrow canyon in a nearly horizontal solid steady stream more than halfway up its wall. Like water pouring from a broken flume. Wetter rock higher on the canyon walls shows that the water level had been higher, and as we watch, its height visibly lowers even more. Soon the canyon will drain onto the flood plain adding more water to ribbon over the cliff.

Nothing could survive in that.

Firmly I remind myself that I have no reason to believe that Colonel O'Neill was even in the canyon at all. I cling to that thought desperately. I've lost a father and survived. Barely. Could I survive the loss of this man too?

Reluctantly I order my people back to work; we still have a lot to do. Captain Monty Ellis, our geologist will stay and observe the draining of the canyon and document its dynamics for his mission report.

The day passes, the water recedes, and the sky clears. Tomorrow the Colonel is due back.

XXX

Dr. Brent is set up on the knoll again.

I would usually be up before anyone, but I had spent part of the night with him taking in the beauty that he says seems to be so important to Colonel O'Neill... to Jack.

Dripping sounds. My eyes snap open as all kinds of thoughts rip through my mind to explain that sound's presence and I find Captain Ellis standing just inside our now permanent temporary sleeping room in the tunnels. The dripping comes from water seeping out of a field pack slung from one hand. What a strange thing to wake up to, I want to ask him what's going on. But he rotates the pack and there, just below the hang loop, is stenciled O'Neill.

My arms nearly refuse to support me as I struggle to sit.

"Where… where did you find it?" I cough out.

"Caught in one of the trees knocked down by the water coming out of the canyon."

His words are like a death knell; the Colonel must have been caught in the flood.

"Did… Has anyone started a search yet?" My words struggle from my throat as I gulp back the raising bile.

"No, we decided you should know first. It's for you to decide."

"Give me a few minutes to dress would you?"

"Sure, we'll be at breakfast."

Dressing quickly I headed for the ramp, nothing mattered except finding the Colonel. I needed help and help could be obtained down the ramp.

Hurrying towards the Gate I suddenly fell, the ramp was slick with water, but the shock came from landing in standing water, reaching out a hand towards the canyon, I slapped deepening water. Standing I carefully waded in until I had to swim. What I was doing was foolish, but I had to know. Full day wasn't far away; I tread water at the mouth of the ramp. The Gate Canyon was full of water; only the top arch of the Gate was visible at the far end.

Leaning back into the water I slowly kicked my way up the ramp until I felt stone beneath my heels. Flipping over onto my hands and knees, I rose and walked back to our current living area.

Stopping in the doorway of the brightly lit room I stood dripping on the floor. Waiting. Slowly each team member in turn stood, they eyes on me, questioning. Shock visible on their faces. They needed to be told.

"The Gate Canyon is flooded."

Pandemonium broke out as I stepped to the side, resting my back against the smooth dark stone for a moment then allowing my legs to buckle and found myself crumpled on the floor. The water had been cool and I started to shiver. For just a moment I dropped my head down onto my now controllable and drawn-up knees. Closing my eyes, I thought.

Eventually voices intruded into my chaotic thoughts, they were arguing about what they should do, actively usurping my authority, an authority given to me by Colonel O'Neill. A sacred trust no one had the right to take from me except him. Putting my two nearly useless fingers to my mouth, I found a good use for them.

"Weeeeht."

The silence was shocking; all eyes were on me now as I struggled to my feet. I tried to make eye contact; each person in turn dropped their eyes. I felt a cold anger at them, willing to take control at my perceived weakness when they should have been supporting me. I would go it alone, without their help. I will force them to do what needs to be done if necessary.

"Captain Drake. Dr Kent. You will discover why there is water in the Gate Canyon." They did not move. "NOW!"

They jumped at my shouted command and I felt a certain satisfaction. They hurried away. Maybe the diagrams Kent had found earlier would explain the problem and that Drake would be able to remedy it, I hoped.

Smoothing my face into iron, I faced down the rest of 'my' team.

"As for the rest of us we will form a search party. We will initially look for the Colonel's body. Later a select group of us will move up the creek canyon with the same purpose in mind. I want input on both of those tasks. I will meet you on the Knoll in fifteen. Dismissed."

I was relying heavily on military protocol, hoping for obedience rather than a struggle for power. But just in case I allowed my fury to show. I knew when they saw it; many flinched physically before hurrying away. Without the Colonel to back me up I had to keep them so busy that dismissing my position as commander wouldn't occur to them.

**Teal'c**

"Hey, watch it with that. Will ya!"

CaptainCochran cringes away from the medic with a grimace on his face. He complains loudly, reminding me of my absent brother.

Yet O'Neill is loud for other reasons, selfless reasons. His voice is a force, used to protect, deflect and shelter those around him. Every sound he utters has meaning, I strive to understand, but he is difficult to comprehend. His jests are parries in verbal swordplay. A sob but a lure to the unwary, much as a mother bird feigns a broken wing to draw the fox from her nest. Denials of injury, his deepest expression of concern for others. These I have learned over the years, there is much more I hope to learn. Such as the reason behind the plot aimed at the youngster that O'Neill has befriended. Knowing the intentions of these people toward my Warrior Brother and his Child of the Heart is of great concern to me.

"Ow!"

Pivoting I find O'Neill's Brother of the Heart is not seriously injured. Startled perhaps, as the medic attending him holds an 'instrument of torture' as my Brother is fond of calling the needles necessary in the art of healing practiced on his world. The loss of DanielJackson would have been severe to many, to him the ending of his world again. That I would prevent if I could. O'Neill's greatest weakness is his heart, showing a capacity to give that no one can match. His strength -- trust, grudgingly given, an impenetrable shield. Those whom he trusts return that trust in like fashion, welding a strong link of protection between him and his trusted. To be one is a humbling experience. An honor I cherish.

DrFrasier is with the false doctor. His name I refuse to utter, he is as nothing to me. Only the knowledge inside him keeps him alive, he and his hireling. Both will submit to my will or feel my hand on them. Both are a threat to my Tau'ri Family. O'Neill has tried to explain that retribution in the fashion of Chulak and the Jaffa are to be left behind. This I find difficult, I have lived these traditions and laws for twice the span of years that he has lived. For the most part I submit to his wisdom, which is beyond even the years of the oldest among my people, but I remind myself of his heart, his greatest weakness. He is a compassionate man. I am not.

'Teal'c?"

In the doorway stands DrFrasier she beckons me. Inclining my head in acknowledgment I comply. She steps back into the hallway at my approach she wishes privacy. Politely I wait for her to compose herself.

"Their conditions?" I inquire quietly.

"Dr Means is lucky, it was only a graze, he hit his head on the way down knocking him unconscious. He is in a bit of pain, very minor concussion. Mr. A. Whole? Ah... that is what the chart says? I'll have to ask Cynthia about that. Is concussed, slightly more than Dr Means, but that should not be a problem, only a headache, no in-depth neural protocols are necessary for either of them. The SFs have removed them both to Holding."

"Thank you DrFraser. Will you be checking on DanielJackson?"

"I hadn't planned to, but if you think I should..."

"Please, I would be most indebted."

"I'll check on him right now." She begins to leave, then hesitates. "Teal'c...?"

"DrFrasier?"

"Will those men remain unharmed?" The expression on her face pains me; I will not be able to reassure her as she wishes.

"That is entirely up to them."

"Please, scare the tar out of them. I... I just hope you don't have to... well, do more." Her face reddening by the second she turns and flees into the Infirmary, intent on her promise to check on DanielJackson.

Her words are completely unexpected; always this woman has practiced a caring approach to even the vilest of creatures, even defending Apophis from all who would have been justified in ending his life on sight. The Tau'ri can be a puzzle.

"Indeed," echoes though the hallway empty of listeners.

Go to: Chapter Eleven


	11. Chapter 11

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**General George Hammond**

"Sir."

"Sergeant. Whenever you're ready."

Carefully I watch the man at work, meticulous, professional. Hiding the thoughts of what might be or could be happening on the other side of that alien ring below us. Were they killed, captured or just unable to answer because something broke? I need to have...

"Yes Sir, entering PBX 123 into the dialing computer now."

...positive thoughts, communication will be established this time. Everyone will be just fine, just one of those stupid glitches that seems to happen around the man. Damn, I hope something has changed. Twelve hours, twelve long hours, anything could have happened in that time. After I find out why they didn't answer, maybe I can have Teal'c join the mission. That would ease my mind. But...

THUNK "Chevron one encoded."

...then if they don't answer my only plan is to contact our allies, ask... beg one of them to go there. Find my people and bring them home. That would end O'Neill's, and my, plans for the Mirror Site. Even worse, it would ruin Jack's plans for that boy, a boy...

THUNK "Chevron two encoded."

...he's taken a real shine to. Too bad about what happened to Lt. Van Sickle, he and I both have tried to convince Jack that what happened wasn't his fault. That stubborn ass takes it personally, too personally. He didn't hold the lieutenant down and force...

THUNK "Chevron three encoded."

'General...?'

Ripped from my thoughts, my eyes focus on an airman holding a phone aloft as in offering. What could possible happen now? No, I don't want to know. Probably a flood in the locker room. Again! I'm not a plumber... I'm a god damned General! Yeah, of a whole base, who else would they call? O'Neill has it so easy.

THUNK "Chevron four encoded."

Hesitating I glance at the spinning gate, I'd rather stay here. It takes mere seconds to reach the offered wrench in my day. Please, let this be quick.

"Hammond..."

THUNK "Chevron five encoded."

My irritation doesn't come across in the word, I've had years to learn how not to put my feelings into the words. Calm and competent, that's what's needed at all times. It's a damn 'monkey see monkey do' world when you're in command of a base.

"Repeat that..."

THUNK "Chevron six encoded."

What I'm hearing over the phone and here in the Control Room is enough to blow out a blood vessel. The deafening sound of the Gate operating and that irritating countdown is more than I can stand. However, the incident I'm hearing about from the Mountain's security entrance drowns out the din. ' Just what the Hell is happening?'

THUNK "Chevron seven encoded, and locked."

"Airman, report to your supervisor. Request a refresher on security protocol. Now!" Angrily and loudly I bang the handset into its cradle, disappointed when the Gate connecting drowns out the expected satisfying crash.

KAWOOOSH!

Dragging in a long-suffering breath I pivot, starting towards Sergeant Davis. Striding across the room I feel no remorse in my words to the sergeant I'd just spoken to. He didn't do his job, making mine more difficult and I really needed to leave and delve into this new problem. However, I also had to know about the situation on PBX 123. The sergeant's hands are moving across his keyboard swiftly, his whole focus on contacting our people. A hand flashes to his earpiece, that's a good sign. My steps falter when he twists round to find me, his face tells me what I need to know, but conventions demand I ask anyway.

'Sergeant?"

"Sir, I'm sorry. No change," his face is all too readable. Walter is an excellent technical master sergeant, but he should never play poker. Even with O'Neill, who is shameless in losing to him. "Shall I change the mission status? Sir?"

"No Sergeant, no change in status. We'll give them another twelve hours. Thank you." My hand is on his shoulder, reassuring him as well as me.

"Yes Sir."

Walter's eyes are suspiciously shiny in the dim lighting that's normal along the control stations, before dropping my hand I squeeze his shoulder in thanks. If I weren't in charge, my eyes would look the same as his.

This mess is unresolved, now I need to discover the extent of the new one.

XXX

"Doctor?"

Her cut off laugh tells me the man she is treating is not seriously injured as she turns from her examination of Dr. Jackson to face me.

Thank God.

Details on this whole mess are sketchy at best. All I know is that Teal'c and he returned with injured prisoners and Jackson had been roughed up.

This is unacceptable.

No more acceptable then the sergeant at the gate delaying contacting me when they all arrived at the gate. I'm of two minds as to whether they should have been held there or held elsewhere, but held they should have been until I was notified. That decision was mine. It would have been entirely different if O'Neill had been with them, he's Second in Command. He's here to do the dirty work of this command. This idea that any one member of SG-1 can be viewed as O'Neill's proxy has got to end. It's not a case of trust; it's a case of procedure. Even if it were just the trust issue, I couldn't be sure if their actions were on Jack's behalf or the SGC's. Jack would have a bloody fit if the SGC came last when he and it were the only choices.

Right now SG-1 could be operating in 'protect Jack mode.' Sigh.

I've only read half of the reports on this 'Van Sickle' incident. Jackson's is not one of them, nor Teal'c's. Did I even have Teal'c's? However, from what I gather, this goes back to O'Neill and an offer by Daniel Jackson to find out what happened to the boy.

"Dr Jackson."

Doctor Frazier's face closes up once she gets a good look at my face, I nod and hold a hand up, she's to stay during this one. She doesn't look happy. Join the group. Teal'c was the one who 'asked' the sergeant at the gate to delay informing me of their arrival. He isn't here; I don't see any SFs anywhere, no obvious prisoners, only two curtained beds near the entrance. Accident cases?

"Looks like you'll live," letting my disgust leak into my words I pin Jackson with a look.

"Err... yes, I'm fine."

"Good, maybe you can tell me what in Sam Hill is going on."

He has the decency to looked embarrassed, he's avoided contacting me after I requested it. Even if he's not military he should by now understand that a request from me is an order. Civilian or not.

"Well, it's a personal matter General Hammond."

"Dr Jackson, when anything impacts this command there's no such thing."

"I'm... sorry. I have to disagree." Pushing his glasses up his nose he furrows his brow before crossing his arms over his chest and desperately looked defiant while propped up in that hospital bed. But I know the words that will crumble his resistance.

"Son, you are about to find yourself in Holding. I've lost contact with the group on PBX 123 and it looks as if you might have answers pertaining to that. Answers I will have or you will be staring at an empty room. Do I make myself clear?"

"What...? You've lost contact. When?" My hand restrains him from moving from his position as he attempts to struggle upright.

"Not so fast Dr Jackson, you first," he looked truly shocked and... scared. The struggle with his conscience is visible, waves of emotion surge across his face, making me feel like a heel at pushing him so hard. But damn it, there could be lives at stake and this has been going on behind my back way too long.

Major Carter revealed that this was a promise of help to the Colonel and Daniel had gone about it in such as way as to endanger the friendship between them. That was why she became involved; to insure that nothing untoward happened to that friendship. Commendable. Foolish, but commendable.

The words tumble from him, reluctantly at first, each admission appearing to cause him pain, but he reveals the whole story. It truly was a personal matter in the beginning, friends helping friends. It was just that the truths that were found were bigger than what they could handle and from what he has told me, he doesn't know anything about the other group involved.

"Dr Jackson did you know that Dr Mackenzie was also investigating this problem?"

"Ah... no, not actually. Not until Teal'c and I followed Captain Cochran to that old grocery store. I'm not sure, but I think they were working together. I was just a little dazed at the time, so I'm not certain."

"And Teal'c?"

"That's strange, he came to me and asked to help. He seemed to know a lot about what was happening and I told him I didn't think Captain Cochran was giving me the whole story. So he... ah, we decided to follow him, putting a tracer on his SUV, we all wound up at that store and things... just happened."

Teal'c knowing more than Dr. Jackson didn't surprise me. Little escaped him and he seemed to take O'Neill's personal security as a sacred trust, but always working in the background. Almost as if he didn't want Jack to know what he was doing.

"Where is Teal'c now?"

"He said something about securing the truth and left. General, please, is Jack alright?"

"Twelve hours ago they missed a scheduled check in and I've just come from our second attempt to reestablish communication with them. The Stargate connects but we cannot raise the original or second MALP. No signals at all. Sorry, son, I just don't know if he alright or not."

"Oh God."

SG-1's archaeologist looked devastated.

"Dr Jackson, if I had known about this sooner I could have corrected a grave error I myself made, one that left Colonel O'Neill in the dark about Lt. Van Sickle. The reason why the NID is pursuing the boy, a reason I kept from him, in the name of friendship." His ignorance of what I'm talking about shows clearly on his face, it's a good thing the man is so honest. There is no way he could lie with such an expressive face. Breathing deeply I continue with my own guilty admission, "This whole mess has happened because we all just wanted to help someone. We need to step back and reevaluate where duty and friendship begins and ends. The work we do here... well, there may be no line between the two. SG-1 is an example of one needing the other. I for one resolve that feelings be damned, no evading of the facts, ever again."

"I'm sorry, I... I don't know what to say."

"Son, your heart was in the right place. Just think about what has happened and what might still happen. As for the future you may depend that there will be a debrief for this." Since I hadn't noticed Cochran and Mackenzie I needed to ask. "Where are the last two members of this debacle?"

Both doctors pointed at the curtained beds I had dismissed. Well, no longer, I stalked down the row of beds bent on kicking more butt.

"Gentlemen you're next on my speaking tour," my hand pushed the first curtain aside. The bed was rumpled, but empty. The next was the same. Turning back to Fraiser and Jackson with a questioning look I received shrugs as my answer.

"Sir, they must have slipped out during our conversation," offered Doctor Frazier. 'Our' conversation indeed, she was lucky she had done the right thing and fessed up at the first hint of trouble."

"No matter, I'll catch up to them soon enough. First I'll find Teal'c, he I have a notion of where to look for."

This whole mess was beyond belief, a SG-1 foul up of major proportions, only on this side of the Gate. How novel.

Dr Jackson's comment about Teal'c 'securing the truth' gave me a bad feeling, my pace quickened.

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

"Hey. Hey! Not so much."

"But, it has such a unique favor, what is it called again?"

"Ouzo, and it has a kick, so watch it will ya!" Jeez, he'll drain the bottle at this rate. "Can ya hold your liquor?" Snatching the bottle from him I tipped it back and downed a long swallow. Bet alcohol doesn't affect 'colonel's', only lowly captains. Just why did I stop that goon from plugging him? Coming to my office wasn't that good of an idea I'm beginning to think, but I wasn't gonna be a stationary target in that bed either.

When General Hammond arrived in the Infirmary I knew it was time to make a hasty exit. Why did I think dragging the Bird Colonel with me was a good idea? I don't know? All he seems to be doing is drinking my stock of Christmas gifts. Sure, yeah, I created the problem, I felt the need for a snort, and like the well-brought-up boy my mom remembers, I offered him one too. So I only have myself to blame here.

"I've never had a problem before? Why do you ask?"

Leaning over me, he actually smirks and lowers himself to a knee and slips an arm around my shoulders. Yes, smirks. Then he jerks the bottle from my hand as I try to keep it away from him, and drains it. If my eyes don't fall on the floor and roll away under this kinda shock, they never will. Didn't think the man could smile, let alone smirk! And just why is he so damned close?

God! I feel like I'm corrupting a minor here, providing drink and bad habits. He's older than I am by more than ten years, I'm sure. There the 'older' part ends; he has the worldly experience of a five year old. I remember being shown the ropes by my older brothers and sisters, being the youngest; I probably had more than my fair share of corruption from the worldly wise.

"I just wanna to be certain you can still stand when you're done. What's the hardest stuff you've had? And wine doesn't count; so let's not hear about that at all. 'kay?" Damn, wine is nothing more than simmered down kool-aid, kid's stuff.

Just why am I feeling so responsible for the schmuck? He's a holier than thou 'colonel to my captain,' totally not above pointing out the difference in rank at every opportunity. He has absolutely no clue of what he's doing. It's a wonder it wasn't killed back there in that grocery store. Yeah, I know, I had a lot to do with preventing that, and I'm still not sure why I did that, I coulda been hurt or worse, killed myself.

"But wine is so civilized, surely you indulge in wine, I have detected traces of intelligence in _some _of your actions."

He's practically draping himself on me while he's insulting me, and I kinda shove him away, nodding my head like I'm listening or something. If I'd said no, I just know he'd start in on the history of wine. The long version. Maybe then he'll try to crawl up onto my lap. Eww! And what the Hell does me mean 'detected,' like you automatically like wine if you have a brain. I'm damned sure Colonel O'Neill doesn't drink wine. Good beer and single malt all the way!

"The most potent liquor I've drank in the past has been whiskey. Cheap rotgut whiskey, on a dare in college. Although, I prefer a better pedigreed scotch to that." To stop that train of thought I lift a hand and do a hurry up, move it along whirl. "Ah, the dare, I drank a whole fifth in thirty minutes and then did a skateboard skill course. Completed it with a perfect score and they thought I'd never used a board before. Cretins!"

"Hey!" He suddenly pushed me aside and began to rummage in my desk. "Just what do you 'ink ya d'ing?"

Shit, was that me? I didn't drink that much! MacKenzie should be under the table by now if I'm slurring my words. Maybe it has to do with him being the only kid of single uncaring parent? And a parent he doesn't seem to be fond of at all. I bet all of his strange ways can be traced back to his mom. From the habits he has, she's probably a socialite that got knocked up and wound up marrying the guy, the wrong guy. Or maybe it was the right guy and MacKenzie wound up with the wrong parent. Gee, that makes me kinda sad. I have lots of family and we're all real close. How would that feel, living with someone who thought of you as a burden? Bummer.

"Looking for more, you have exotic tastes and I like exotic tastes. Bingo!"

Well, he's said that word before. Probably goes to Bingo with his mother every Friday night and loses. Crap, not the anisette, I got that for my sister's birthday, and that brand is really hard to find. Trying to rescue the bottle, the next thing I know I'm chasing him around the desk like he were a sexy secretary and me playing the lecherous exec, not that I would do that, at least not without her asking me to. Love role-playing. That gets consenting adults excited in the funniest ways. Having stopped to consider my wayward thoughts, the Bird Colonel is suddenly drawn to me, like a moth to a flame. He slides up behind me and presses himself against me, I shuffle away and he snugs up to me again, breaking my wonderful daydream to shards with the shock of just what the Hell he is doing. He coos into my ear.

"Why are you grinning like that? Here, have some. It tastes like licorice." He shoves the bottle at me with a wide grin on his mug. Meanwhile, his arm has my waist in a grip that I can't wiggle our of. And, Damn it, yes, a grin. It's nice to know that he's a happy lush. He's just too damned 'friendly.'

"You do know that we are probably in hot water with General Hammond now. Don't you?" And by God, his grin just got bigger as he moved closed, sliding bodily across my back and round my side to stand face to face with me. Or is that chest-to-chest, I look up into his eyes.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure of that. And there is the proof," he pointed a finger towards the door behind me and he grinned even wider. A big white blinding fence of teeth.

Staggering around in place, tripping over my own feet, MacKenzie was suddenly there holding me up in such a way that for all the world it appeared we were indulging in an intimate embrace. Damn I am drunk! From my position in the Bird Colonel's arms, his lips gusting breath in my ear, I saw what he wanted me to see. Two SFs. Shit! And they didn't look happy at all. Hell, I wasn't happy.

"Ladies. We have the prefect honeymoon suite just for you."

**Teal'c**

The hireling is just that, he reveals nothing of value.

This lack of value had no effect on me; he was, after all, just a hireling. His mistake was in describing an encounter with young Lt.VanSickle, so involved did he become in the telling that he further erred by showing his utter delight in what he had done. That _did_ have an effect on me, and as if of their own accord, my fingers sank into his vulnerable neck before his amusement at tormenting a mere boy could be fully transported though it. My pleasure in what I was doing was extremely gratifying. The hireling slowly turned blue, eyes bulged, and then he went limp. Just as the life was beginning to fade from the windows of his vile soul I remembered the anguish my Warrior Brother has shown when forced to kill, an anguish which grew greater when he saw a member of SG-1 kill, so great is his pain that he cannot entirely hide it.

So swiftly did I release my death hold, that man and chair both were flung to the floor. My heart pounded in my chest and my primta rolled sickeningly. My Brother's seldom seen horror hung before me. I have forsaken a god to follow him, how could I ignore O'Neill's ways so blatantly. He is the new way, the golden path, the future of my people. This I am careful to never reveal to him, he would not tolerate my elevation of him.

'_Teal'c, I'm just a man.'_

A man like no other, the spearhead of a world's step into the universe, its shield against aggressors and kindler of peace between his world and the truly great races residing beyond the Stargate.

'_Just a man -- fallible.'_

Only a truly great man admits to fallibility. Would I be arrogant to admit this weakness that is not a weakness? The new ways are difficult to follow, more so when my guide is missing. He walks unknowingly in danger on another world, there to nurture one who could step into the breach when he finally falls. This fall I intend to delay as long as possible, far beyond that point when either Lt.VanSickle or another is confirmed as his successor. My fondest hope is that Rya'c will dedicate his life to the protection of the successor and in time earn his trust and friendship, both of which can be bread to a starving man. And my people are a race of staving men.

O'Neill has conjured victory from the ashes of disaster. As he is my guide I shall emulate him, this mistake will be the beginning of success. My thoughts, lengthy as centuries, were in fact mere seconds, no one has moved until now. And that movement is Mr. A. Whole, who stirs and blinks on the floor, now safe from death at my hands. Only he would not know this.

'_Ya think.'_

My Brother's words come with a flash of that expression that DanielJackson calls a 'smart ass smirk.' MajorCarter calls it by another name, 'cat that got the canary.' I prefer to call it 'victory from defeat.'

Reaching down I grasp the chair and fling it unerringly at the large mirror centered in the wall to my right, using just enough force to bounce it off the fragile glass, not breaking it. O'Neill would be proud and exclaim something like, 'shock value.' I wish to gain the attention of the false doctor who I know is imprisoned behind that mirror, he should not miss a moment of my time with his hireling.

The man on the floor watched my performance with rapidly widening eyes, scrabbling back from me in abject terror. Good. For I intend to 'scare the tar' out of him and enjoy every minute of it. I do not believe that O'Neill would disapprove of terrorizing the terrorizers.

Never breaking eye contact with the frightened man I follow his path to the wall, he startles when his back strikes it. Insuring the direction of his next escape I step to his side, between him and the mirror. His reaction is swift, using feet and hands he scoots away from me along the wall. Intending to trap him in the corner I step slightly away from the wall and begin to decrease the distance between us. His eyes begin to oscillate between me and the two SFs guarding the door. His silent plea for help I know will go unanswered, I chose the guards myself and explained my plan of action. A plan I had, at the time, no intention of following, then I intended to kill them both and took steps to stifle any timely interference.

Now, perhaps I shall visit them in the place of their imprisonment and wish them long life.

Mr. Whole now has no escape; he pushes up the wall and presses himself back into the corner, making himself as small of a target as possible. Stepping up to him, I smile and lean closer, the better for him to hear me.

'Scream."

No words escape his rapidly working mouth. Placing a hand to either side of him, bracing myself against the two walls I breathe my request in different words.

"If you wise to live convince me of your fear."

Slowly I lean back to bring my hands to his neck, only to brush them down his chest. But he is already screaming as if I were gutting him. From the mirror I know that it appears that I am doing something to him, his screams confirm this.

His eyes tell me he is calming, nothing has happened to him. He has only heard requests. This I cannot allow. Reaching down I tug at his belt, his scream goes up, sounding nearly like a woman's. Unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants I reach in and seize him.

"I am not convinced."

Gently I pull upward. He explodes into truly frightening shrieks and attempts to burrow backwards into the wall, away from me, arms and legs spread as wide as possible. His fingers leave bloody trails across the wall they scrabble at. His eyes remain locked to mine, each time they flick down I tug upward and squeeze gently. Leaning in to him I press him into the corner, holding him upright, pinning him in his panicked frenzy. No true harm is coming to him, but I have convinced him otherwise.

His performance is masterful. It is time to end it.

Slowly I begin to withdraw my hand from his pants, at the slackening of his frenzy I reverse and grab hold again, he is a fast learner. Smiling my approval I quickly explain my next request, my lips touching his ear, his screams and struggles never slackening

"Tell me with your eyes that you understand the term 'play dead."

His answer is emphatic affirmative, pleasing me; maybe I will only visit him once a year rather than every month. Now he will have to prove his understanding to me.

"Play dead."

His scream is cut off in mid breath and he slithers to the floor, forcing me to hold onto him and break his fall. His portrayal of death is excellent, even producing a spreading puddle of urine and smell of loosened bowels convince me.

A truly masterful performance.

**General George Hammond**

Only O'Neill's absolute trust of this man holds me back, prevents me from sending in the SFs and putting a stop to the cold blooded torture happening before my very eyes. Never have I seen Teal'c so... involved before. It is difficult to equate the gentle giant I know with the man in that room right now.

Yes, I know he was First Prime of Apophis, that he killed hundreds with his bare hands. Gave orders to kill yet thousands more. Watched as whole populations were exterminated. I know this in my mind, intellectually. I've never witnessed it.

Violence and death cannot be explained though words or even pictures. It must be experienced in person, felt, smelled, heard, tasted. Only then can it be understood. That is only the first step; true understanding can only occur after being its victim. O'Neill is an expert, on both sides of violence. While in Black Ops he dished it out and then reaped it a thousand fold in Iraq.

Teal'c has never known the victim's side of violence that Jack lived though, the part that haunts him still. The Jaffa has never truly been the victim. Oh, he's had a taste here and there, but nothing that can hold a candle to Jack's experiences.

The man shackled to the chair has watched the same event as I have; he squirms and twists at his bonds. He had not spoken to me when I entered the room, but as the scene played out his eyes slide to me more and more. Suddenly he was begging for my help. I just shook my head and refused to speak. The two SFs at the door never moved, never spoke, statues. Good men.

Jack O'Neill is a good man, I trust him. That trust is what allowed this to happen. That trust may have died in that room at Teal'c's hands.

Slowly it sinks in. It is done. Teal'c has finished, gone too far. A man has died. And I did nothing.

My eyes watch O'Neill's friend turn and leave, his face as serene as ever. He will come here and repeat his actions.

Can I stand by and still do nothing?

Light and sound pour though the door, filling the darkness. All too soon it is as if it never was. Darkness again reigns to the tattoo of steps.

Teal'c strides across the room, ignoring the two guards and me. He swiftly and violently jerks the prisoner and chair to face him; the horror beyond the glass is now behind his newest victim. I'm puzzled by this, surely forcing the man to face 'that' while being questioned would produce answers faster. What was the purpose of killing the other man if not to show this one his coming fate?

My answers come in the form of Dr Fraiser and a team of medics entering the room behind the glass. Why would a dead man need a doctor? And from the actions of my CMO the man in that room is not dead. This is confirmed when the good doctor looks right into the mirror and her hand forms an okay sign. I've never been slow on the uptake, but it's a shock to realize the whole killing was a sham. It was just too real and I've seen real. Teal'c did what he did to fool Dr Means into believing that we didn't care if he lived or died, very deliberately allowed him to watch him 'kill' his cohort. Only Dr Means and I had no idea that it was a fake.

Teal'c didn't even bat an eyelash at Fraiser's signal; nothing betrayed that he had even seen it.

All I can see is Dr Means' back. With a shiver I see just how close I came to endangering Teal'c's plans by even being here. I had no idea what was happening and he couldn't stop to explain. He had to trust me. God, he put a lot of trust in me to not interfere, a trust born of Jack's own faith in me. And here I stood losing that trust because my eyes told me something I knew couldn't be true. Maybe it is time for me to retire?

"You will tell me what I wish to know before you die."

Teal'c words startle me from my shameful thoughts His voice is angry and Teal'c is never angry. But what I had just seen in that other room I had never seen either. Jack is a master at portraying himself as other than he is. Maybe Teal'c shares this talent? I decide to wait and see. To trust.

"Your answers will decide how much pain you will suffer. Your pain would please me greatly."

He gently cups the man's chin, bringing up his head and smiles gently at him before loosening his grip and caressing the man's face, shockingly leaving streaks of thick red across unmarred skin. Slowly he rotates that hand before his helpless captive, to allow the man to admire the blood smeared along those long powerful fingers.

"Beautiful is it not?"

Gulping my eyes flick to 'that' room. No blood, at least not that much, only the smeared marks on the wall. Where...?

"Only there is not enough, I desire more of this decoration."

Means jerks at the cuffs on his wrists and ankles jarring the chair, moving it slightly as Teal'c wipes the blood off the back of his hand across the man's bare throat... Suddenly that hand grasps at his shirt and jerks, buttons bounce off unseen surfaces, Means is immobile. Dripping sounds draw my attention to the liquid pooling beneath the man's chair.

"Tell me all."

Like a bursting dam the words tumble from Dr Means' mouth, hurried and incoherent.

"Stop."

The man actually stops breathing in his haste to please his tormentor.

"Slowly, clearly, and all that you know. Resume."

Nodding, he does. Each word clear, each sentence easy to understand. He paints a picture of what he knows. Teal'c straightens, crosses those powerful arms over his massive chest and smiles benignly down on his entertainment. Clearly pleased.

Teal'c has succeeded, I may not approve one bit of his methods, but they do work. I hope that I can salvage enough to entice justice though official channels and to do that I need to have this 'confession' recorded. Retribution may be enough on Chulac, but due process is demanded here. Let's hope that I can keep them focused on the villain's deeds and not methods employed here.

Feeling the need to act I'm totally unable to be still and to my surprise I draw Teal'c's into eye contact, just long enough for him to draw my attention to something above and behind me. Slowly, afraid to break the rhythm of the confession before me, I look. It's the security camera, and it's running.

Teal'c knew, goddamn it! He knew enough to plan this charade, but couldn't take the time to tell me!

O'Neill and I will have a very long talk when he returns.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

No trace of a body could be found when I left the search after three hours, but the water could have carried it down onto the plains. We would never find him there. It wasn't possible and I refused to believe that. Reviewing the aerial digital recordings of the immediate area on one of the laptops I was looking for chances. The UAV had followed the creek upstream at one point, why no one had checked for this I don't know.

Thinking back I remember the Colonel and I had sat through the footage, but neither of us noticed that the creek canyon had narrowed so dramatically. We probably didn't notice it still existed. Zooming in I could see a faint dark line of what must be a slot canyon, a very dangerous type of canyon that took the lives of many hikers on Earth, both experienced and inexperienced.

I didn't care for walking up the canyon; I was more interested in walking the top of the canyon wall, staying out of the danger zone. The lip of the sinuous dark line appeared to be even and clear of vegetation, cutting through a gentle undulation of valleys and rises. Those valleys would be our greatest test, they appeared to be choked with vegetation, but the greater stretches of higher ground had minimal plant cover. It was the type of rock the water had cut through, butter to the rushing water, but iron to trees and bushes. A FRED would be able to traverse the canyon top easily.

As for who went with the FRED, that was the problem. I would go. I had to go. But I needed to leave someone in charge, someone I could trust. It had to be Major Drake even if she was, someone I couldn't trust to make a grab for command. It had to be her because she had the most experience at command, and she needed to stay and solve our flooding problem. All I can hope for is that her natural zeal for following up a puzzle in her area of expertise would distract her from her overdeveloped sense of command structure.

But if the unthinkable happened, and I returned with O'Neill alive, she could have command.

Captain Ellis and Everett would go with me, they were both mobile and had skills that would come in handle.

We couldn't leave soon enough for me.

XXX

Her every movement screams disrespect. No salute. No attempt to stand at a quick nano-second of attention. Things that I find don't really matter to me. But her dismissal, that… that I do care about. Even if she refuses to recognize my position as head of this team, she should at least pay lip service to my position for the good of the team.

Each of us has to do our best to get along, to cooperate, to achieve our common goal. Surely, by now, she knows that I'm not some kind of little jumped up dilettante eager to order people around for the pump it gives my ego. I've made myself approachable, always bowing to the experts just asserting my power when no popular consensus occurs. I've guided, rather than commanded. I've bent over backwards to accommodate everyone. Maybe I've only succeeded in showing myself to be a soft touch.

God! This is nothing like I'd imagined. All the good grades and all the words I've read don't provide the answers to the questions I have before me. Now is when having Colonel O'Neill here would really help. He is so good at laying out the pros and cons of conflicts like this. Although he is very capable of just ignoring everyone sensitivities and ordering something done in no uncertain terms. He's so strong and confident in his command.

I'm not really certain that I'll ever be that secure in my command abilities.

Secure or not I am now going to have to convince this woman that I know what I'm doing. I must command her obedience for the good of us all.

"Captain Drake, I am going to leave you in charge here. But, your main responsibility will be to find a way to drain the Gate Canyon."

"Yes."

_Yes_, no 'sir' to go with it. It's a bad sign; Marines just don't forget such etiquette. However, I'm prepared to overlook her deliberately bad manners, her problems with my being in charge is meaningless. Only the survival of the team has meaning. And right now, I have a man missing.

I feel the desperation his image provokes and shove it away; I can't afford feelings right now.

"This whole expedition is stranded here, _lives_ may depend on your success."

"I understand."

"I hope you do, _we_ need you to do what you are trained for. And I need to do what I've been trained for. Do you _really_ understand?"

Watching her face intently, a flicker of something crosses it. I hope what I have just said will spark the right kind of thoughts in this brilliant engineer. She's a Major because of her engineering skills, not her command skills. Does she really understand that?

I'm very young, but I've been trained, tested and am told I have the ability to Command. I'm not an Engineer I can't do what she does. My biggest fear is that she may believe she can do my job too.

So much depends on her being able to recognize her own limitations; I hope her bitterness doesn't blind her to the edge of her envelope.

Too many lives now lie in her hands.

XXX

I tried to force myself to sleep, but was mostly unsuccessful. I found myself standing on the knoll in the gray before dawn. My thoughts are not nice.

Visions of a familiar figure bloating in the sodden grass under a golden green sky. A foot protruding from under a jamb of trees, rocks and brush up the canyon compacted between the cold stone wall and an immovable boulder. Standing before an empty flag draped casket in an obscenely beautiful cemetery, hearing the screams of three jets overhead in a cloudless sky. Of sleepless nights, wrapped in cold sodden sheets trying not to think about how fucking useless I am.

My agitation late yesterday, after speaking with Major Drake, translated into roaming along the broken down wooded cliff that would be the approach to the upper lip of the canyon. I was looking for the best route to urge the FRED up with my two teammates in tow. My roaming had an unexpected side benefit; all this time many of us had wondered where all the excavated rock had gone. Even wondering if the builders had some kind of Zat technology and disintegrated it.

So wooded was the rough incline up the cliff it disguised a ramp of broken rock. I trotted back to camp and nearly dragged Captain Ellis to the mountain. He was able to confirm my notion that this was the missing rock. I had just solved _and_ added another puzzle to our increasing store; this was at least a fortuitous one.

Shaking the distasteful images from my all too vivid imagination, I returned to our temporary camp in the tunnels.

I hoped to eat and gather my little group, to pass on last minute instructions. In case we didn't return, a real possibility on an unknown planet.

I used my last couple of weeks well; with my new security clearances I read every field-action report written by Colonel O'Neill and SG-1 and as many of the other teams as possible, which were not many. The Colonel and SG-1 had a lot to say in the last five years. Dr. Jackson was the most prolific writer I had ever seen, so I skimmed most of his reports. O'Neill's and Teal'c's I read word for word soaking up ten years worth of experienced warrior observations. What I read was devastating, not just to my own ego, but to the idea that Earth will survive our new role of citizen of the universe.

As I walked across the already dusty stone towards the darkened ramp my mind roamed over those reports, of how SG-1 beat the odds and survived longer than any other team. The average life expectancy of a member of a SG Team was less than three years; death or disability ended their association with the SGC in that time. This average has improved over the years mainly to the efforts of Colonel O'Neill, one of the few who has beat the odds and survived mostly intact the longest. This thought improved my mood. The man claimed to have bad luck, but to me it appeared he had the best of luck. Impossible good luck. If anyone could survive the fury of nature I had witnessed it would be him.

A new optimism suffused me, stepping with a firmer lighter step; the world brightened just a bit. I would find him and bring him home. I have found his presence important to me and we needed to talk about that.

I stepped onto the dark ramp and finally into the too bright common room of our camp, breakfast was underway. Major Ellis was not in the room, as I helped my self to the food I asked where she was.

"Left hours ago, down to the lower level. Denise is also gone," softly offered Lt. Wong.

I smiled at the big biologist fondly; he was the easiest member of the team to get along with. His gentle optimism nearly overwhelmed by his shear size, once you got used to looking up at him he was funny, helpful and always genuinely pleased to see anyone. He appeared to walk through life with rose-colored glasses.

"Gone?" I asked smiling at him, but puzzled at his last statement.

"Denise and Major Ellis spent most of last evening in the diagram room. I could not but help to notice, they spoke loudly and angrily at one point."

The big man frowned and shook his head.

"Okay, but where is Kent… ah, Denise now?"

"Down in the diagram room, mutter to herself when not talking into her digital recorder."

"Do you have any idea what they were so excited about?"

"Denise was trying to convince Major Ellis that there is some kind of control that can empty the cisterns into the Gate Canyon."

That was interesting, if that were true, then it could be possible that part of that control may have shunted the excess water into the canyon rather than flood the lower level of the tunnels. Lucky for us and unlucky too.

"So?"

"Denise could not tell her exactly where to look, so she is searching in likely places for it. Neither could agree what would constitute a likely place."

He smiled, as if he had uttered the world's best punch line.

"Thanks Dennis, I appreciate you telling me."

"You are in charge, you needed to be told. I do not believe that Major Ellis can do a better job or that Colonel O'Neill is telling you what to do. I see that you are doing the job. I have watched you with great interest. Maybe it is the lack of animal life here, you are the only interesting thing to watch besides O'Neill."

"You watch Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yes, I watch him watch Major Ellis, like an alpha wolf watches the beta. He favors you to be alpha, not her."

"Uh…thanks. I think."

"People are animals. What applies to one will apply to the other. Simple."

"Why do you watch me?"

"Because O'Neill threats you as offspring."

I am stunned, shocked. 'Offspring,' as in son? How can that be?

"But…"

"It is true, he sees many as children to him, but he chooses to nurture you. That made me curious, so I watched. You are like him, maybe very like him before he was damaged."

"Damaged?"

"Yes, in the past he was hurt badly, physically and mentally. Most likely more than once."

"You don't by chance have a degree in psychology do you?"

"I found it prudent to have one, yes. As I have said humans are animals…"

"Applies to the other… yeah, yeah, I remember. And you can see this… damage?"

"If you look, yes."

"I..."

"Haven't seen it. You cannot see what you refuse to see in yourself. You too are damaged, but not as badly as he."

My shocked fury showed.

"Please, I would never presume to pass on such knowledge as this. I only tell you because you both care for one another. I wish you both to see the other for who they truly are. If you are not careful great pain can be caused, instead of being friends you could become bitter enemies. I would not like to see that."

I thought back to my thoughts after the Colonel handed me this assignment, so easily I could have hated him. Not just at that moment, but for the rest of my life. I had so unknowingly come close to what Dennis alluded to. I felt faint.

"I see by your face that you have already come close to hating him. He makes many bold moves, not all are immediately recognized as benevolent. I am sure he would willing die, rather than hurt you in any way."

I abruptly sit down; thank god, we were both are in the far corner, alone next to one of the wide sills that serve us as seats. Lt. Wong sits down next to me, very close, the better to speak and not be overheard. I look up into his eyes and see compassion there. I know he can see my desperation as that compassion turns to sadness.

"It is part of his damage, this willingness to die. You must never present him such an opportunity, he is not suicidal, but he does not have a great deal of self-preservation. He lives for those around him; he feels he cannot live if they do not. To safeguard him, safeguard yourself."

"But…"

"Yes, as I said you very like him. So, the converse is true. Although I believe that you can actually defeat this tendency in yourself, it has not taken root yet."

"I'm surprised that you can see all of that."

"I have spent all of my life in observation of other's interactions and I believe my father's genes help. The Wong's are long lived and very wise."

Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Captain Everett. We both turned to face her, she appeared nervous.

"Sorry, to interrupt. But Monty… Uh, Captain Ellis has the FRED ready to go."

"Thanks, Marie. Tell him I'm be there soon, just a matter of a few minutes."

Dennis and I watched her quick retreat to the surface. I turned my face to this gentle wise giant who knew way too much about Colonel O'Neill and me. I intently searched his eyes for his motive; his only response was a smile. Dropping my eyes, I began to speak:

"Dennis, I don't know what to say. You probably know both of us better than we ourselves do. I'll think about what you've said. But, right now, the only thing that matters is finding Colonel O'Neill. He some how holds the answer to my future and maybe I hold his. Guard the fort. I am loath to leave it in Drake's hands. No choice."

"I shall endeavor to keep her too busy to do other than her job, the rest will help. Do not fear, I feel this will all work out."

"I hope you're right."

XXX

Getting the FRED up the wooded slope to the top of the creek canyon was easier than I anticipated. It seems that the rubble ramp had a gentler slope, not being at all business like in reaching the top; it angled up the cliff, decreasing the incline and taking longer to get there.

Captain Monty Ellis, our geologist theorized that the builders did it deliberately, maybe there where other ruins further up into the mountains. Heavy traffic would have an easier time on a shallow incline. He even wondered out loud if another such ramp led down to the plains.

He could be right; no one has really looked for a way down there. Even to my untrained eye there didn't seem to be enough rock used in the construction of this ramp to account for all of that missing in the construction below us. There are so many questions about why this whole base, facility or what ever you wanted to call it is here or who built it. Why is it abandoned? Why and when was it built? The biggest question is who built it.

Dr. Kent has only found the a few symbols in the Diagram Room. Symbols that are common to dozens of unrelated languages and probably dozens more that are related. She is still looking for inscriptions or traces of any kind of data storage. It looks hopeless; she is constantly forced to revise backwards the age of the complex, thereby decreasing the chance of translating anything if it is found.

Captain Marie Everett is taking advantage of our slow pace by procuring additional plant samples. She is tireless, dashing ahead and dashing back, making me dizzy. And driving Monty insane, with his bum knee and brace he can't afford to follow her around, yet for some reason he feels obligated to keep her in sight. Afraid that he'll tire himself out, I intersected one of Marie's dashes past me and asked her to keep an eye on Monty letting her know that I think maybe he should ride the FRED from time to time. I had no idea that I had just created a monster. I guess you have to be a little maternal to be a botanist. Marie is a lot maternal. She did get him to ride and involved him in her sampling. He rode while writing tags for the sample bags, something she finds hard to do with the nerve damage in her shoulder. She tends to hold the whole arm close and only uses it as a prop. I watch her dash around selecting next plant victim. Actually, it worked out well like this I could increase the speed of the FRED just a tad, not much, but it made me feel better.

I had made a minimal list of equipment I wanted on the FRED and left the rest up to Monty and Marie. I did specify that we might have to transport Colonel O'Neill back to camp on it. Monty impressed me by reciting to me exactly what was on the FRED. He added more rope, and stripped our camp of as much of the First Aid supplies as he thought were safe. He found climbing equipment, I had totally forgotten it was with us. I hadn't thought of extra clothes and a sleeping bag, Marie's contribution. It embarrassed me a little to think that I hadn't thought of this, we had found O'Neill's pack. He had nothing. Great leader I am.

It took us three hours to climb the wooded ramp, which took us in the opposite direction we wanted to go. That added another hour to our eventual arrival at the lip of the creek canyon. Once there, Monty and I scanned the canyon with binoculars, him looking at the rock and I looking for the Colonel. He was more successful than I was.

Monty was able to tell me that the canyon got frequent floods, the rock was not prone to landslide and the creek was serpentine in form. Meaning that there would be frequent places for debris to pile up when the floodwaters lowered to the point that large objects started to drop out. These objects would catch and collect other objects, creating jambs. If the Colonel had been caught in the canyon and not carried to the plains, he would most likely be in a jamb. The bad news about that is we may never know it and he would probably be dead.

I was hoping to find him up here where we are. Alive.

We made slow progress up the canyon; frequently stopping to use our powerful glasses cover every inch visually. I was relieved that we didn't find as many jambs as Captain Ellis expected, nor were they are massive as he feared. This is where Marie came in handy, she visually

XXX

What I would give for a Zat right now. Stupid bushes!

"Eric, ah... Sir, let me give you a hand out of there."

Above me, Capt. Monty Ellis' arm was stretched down to me, fingers splayed in invitation, while his face twitched simultaneously in specific places, giving me a hint of his thoughts. My spontaneous and totally unexpected fit of laughter echoed over the water he's offered to help me from as ripples ringed out over its surface, caused by my sudden tiny quick movements of uncontrolled mirth. Now Ellis' face fairly undulated as he attempted to keep it straight, making stifling my own reaction to my tumble into the stream even harder to control.

After all the hours of worry and strain while searching the canyon, this somehow seemed the only thing I could do, just cut loose and laugh at the ridiculous situation I now found myself in. So in contrast to the awful truth that I was out here in the slight hope of finding my commander and newest friend alive and well. That slight hope died by infinitesimal increments with each step further into the wilds of PBX 123 we traveled.

The devastation we found all along the creek canyon was mind numbingly complete. Ancient forest giants were reduced to so much kindling. Boulders had tumbled like empty grocery bags in a stiff breeze, boulders that would normally take a few charges of C-4 to move a few feet. Debris jambs appeared so tight that even a nuclear device seemed inadequate to break them apart.

Our passage had been ridiculously easy until we hit the first of many streams that empted into the canyon we followed. Our pace slowed by the incline down to stream responsible for digging such a mammoth ditch, but the tangle of bushes and the rock-choked stream itself was the hardest obstacle. Stopping us dead in our tracks.

The stream was protected by a barrier of bushes too high to just force the MALP over and too thick for any of us to wiggle our way though. And since there were no large animals on this planet, we couldn't follow a game path that might have crossed it. We were faced with an extremely effective living security fence that we needed to breach to get to the next impediment. Crossing the stream itself.

It was at this point that I could have kissed Capt. Maria Everett. Actually I would have been tempted to do that at the slightest opportunity, but this was special. She had in her possession a machete, two in fact. One was hers and the other belonged to Lt. Wong, our xeno-biologist, and according to Capt. Monty Ellis each had already proved their worth in helping set up our first ill-fated camp. And now they were more precious than gold and gems. They were our key to pushing though our first setback.

Marie rode the MALP while controlling it one handed, it was slow going, but Monty and I could swing the machetes with more impact than she could and even with two of us hacking she spent more time stopped, than moving ahead though the tangle. It really didn't take long to hack though about six feet of brush, but it felt like a lot more. The water was a pleasant reward after the sweat we worked up.

After enjoying the water I discovered it also presented me with a whole different set of problems, requiring additional solutions. Lucky for me I had two savvy people with me, because this not so outdoors boy would be up the creek without a paddle if left to my own experience of the great outdoors. Sure they train us to get down on our bellies and slither though it, but getting a rescue mission across wild country. Well we talked about it. And talking is nowhere near doing.

Monty suggested that we stick closer to the canyon edge when we have to cross a stream, as they tend to be shallower there than back from the edge. And Marie suggested that all the bushes we chopped down could make an excellent fill for the rough spots in the creek. And so it went, we hacked a hole in the brush to the inevitable waterfall and used it and rocks to fill in the deep holes to ease the MALP across, and then we hacked though the bushes again on our way back to the high ground. We did this at each and every stream, except one. That one was devoid of any water. No water, no bushes, hardly an obstacle, I wish there were all that way. Every muscle above the waist feels stretched beyond shape, burning and trembling with exertion. And that fatigue led to my current watery downfall.

Stretching up my own good hand I grasped Monty's and he pulled me from the stream. I caught Marie hiding her giggles behind a hand before she made like she was busy. I grinned. For a moment, for just one moment, I forgot.

Jack. Colonel O'Neill.

He was out here, somewhere, and I had just forgotten that. None of us were here to have fun, to explore or collect specimens. We were probably looking for the body of my newest friend, a man I was finding that I needed. And maybe I couldn't live without. And I had forgotten.

"We'll find him."

"Of course we will," I grinned at Monty, not feeling at all the emotion that should be behind such an expression. His own told me he somehow knew what I was thinking, how I was feeling. With a reassuring smile he stepped back, giving me the space to recoup under the guise of shaking off the excess damp that clung to me. Inside, I knew no matter how hard I tried, I would not shake the damp that lodged around my heart and soul. My only recourse, rather than catatonia, was to slip back into that state of being called 'taking care of business.'

The physical side of taking care of business readily dried my clothes during our now familiar routine of getting across the current stream and though the next brushy barrier, we were forced to zigzag up a rocky slope, rougher than any we had traversed before, so I stayed close to make sure both of my people were doing okay. Previously I had hugged the cliff line, searching in vain for Colonel O'Neill.

The long shadows of the lowering sun would soon give way to full dark and I knew we would have to make camp. Even under the brilliance of the crowded starscape further travel would be dangerous. And the thought of missing something in the sunless canyon during that time would be beyond my endurance. Just as the long wait for the sun to return, test it.

We had traveled further than even I had dared hope, despite the streams, bushes and rough slopes.

My last long endless night in our temporary tunnel quarters had not been spent in soul damning despair, not that I didn't experience that also. But I studied every scrap of digital video that showed our course of travel. Burning every detail deeply and forever into my memory, never would I forget this alien landscape for as long as I lived. Nor the lesson soon learned that those images in my head did not necessarily give me the ability to accurately translate them into a sure knowledge of my path. Such as our difficulties at the creek crossings, this current rough slope and what would the upcoming smooth stone ahead reveal that mere images could not?

It was with relief that our group finally crested the heights. Before us was an open expanse of dark shiny green-black rock that seemed to shimmer with the latent heat of it birthing, stretching nearly to the horizon. An occasional tree or bush and boulders dotted it. The boulders were strange, nearly white, blindingly so in the swiftly dropping sun. Capt. Ellis explained they were glacial erratics, they excited him a great deal, Marie headed for the plants, while I controlled the MALP to a group of rocks intent on stopping there for the night. I pushed the little vehicle as fast as prudent; I too wanted to check out the area, to see into the canyon before darkness fell.

Tossing the control box atop the bungee webbing securing the load to the MALP, my swift steps took me to the precipice. The air tugged me towards nothingness as it plunged into the narrow cold slot water had sliced from the stone. The canyon edge was as if a knife had cut it, dropping straight down, smooth, featureless and daunting, below a light patch of drifted sand rose in height above the dark floor to my right. A trapped tree poked skeletal limbs from the top of it, close to the sheer wall.

Slowly I let my eye drift though the canyon, hoping to see a familiar figure, one that I had somewhere lost the hope of ever finding. Unwilling to go far from my two companions I walked up stream a couple of thousand feet searching all the way, then reversed my direction, using my binoculars to slowly search every anomaly until I reached the skeletal tree again, and what seemed to be a bush catch between it and the rock wall. Then I repeated my actions downstream. But the dead tree kept drawing my attention, I had the feeling I was missing something.

Halfway back to where I had first stood on the canyon's edge, I noticed the partial circle of a crater in the downstream side of the drift of sand; a truncated limb seemed to lie partially across it, like a strange sundial in form. Dropping to my stomach I decided this was a good place to do a last slow look before darkness made seeing impossible. Slowly I worked my way up the canyon floor to the tree, stopping I studied the depression, and blinked. Movement, did I actually see movement, or only thought I had? Frozen I watched and it did, move. Or appear to. Since my accident my depth perception has not been the greatest, so...

"Captain. Ellis," I spoke quietly into my radio.

"Sir?"

Crap! That was close, startled, I rolled partially over to find him standing close above me, a worried look on his face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, but you've been here for awhile and you weren't moving." He shrugged sheepishly; he had been concerned for me. That emotion from others was still very new, illustrating the motive behind this little trip. I craved this from others, just as I craved to give it.

"Yeah, guess I have. Would you mind looking at something for me? I... I can't make it out," I could feel my face heat at such an admission of weakness. Teal'c had told me that I share this jaded misconception of a perceived lack of ability with a certain colonel we both were acquitted with. Physical inability was no one's fault and one should not feel shame because one's body had limitations. He makes a good argument, but it is difficult to convince one's self of it.

"No problem," he said as he flopped down on the cool stone at my side. Pointing to the 'bush' I handed him the binoculars.

A wave of weariness swept over me as Monty raised the glasses and began to adjust them, I rested my warm forehead against the stone, letting its cold suck the heat from my skin until chill began to spike into my brain. Something touched my shoulder, and then moved up to my back, it was comforting, warm, I pulled myself from my drift.

"There's a man down there, I'm sure of it," the warm pressure increased, it was Monty, he had looped his arm over my shoulders before telling me the first part, somehow I knew there was more. "He isn't moving."

Holding in the sob I answered, "Colonel O'Neill is a survivor Monty, I'm not worried."

**General George Hammond**

Angry. Damn right I'm angry.

Nothing, the man told us nothing. He knew nothing. He hardly knew as much as we did.

At least I won't have to worry about the violation of his constitutional rights. There is little chance of prosecution because he knows absolutely nothing. Can't even jail him for being in the Mountain, he was brought here against his will. It's called kidnapping.

He readily admits he works for the NID, only he doesn't know any names. Not even the men on the plane, whose photos were taken by Cochran and Mackenzie, God only knows where those two are at the moment.

This embarrassment to my base insists that his name is Means. Somehow I believe him.

Dr Means knew what he had to do, but there is only his word that he was 'ordered' to convince the young lieutenant that he was worthlessness. And when the boy was lost and alone, let the NID know where to find him. Though Dr Frazier was certainly excited when he gave detailed information about the drugs he was using to accomplish this task. Apparently the young man's new roommate had screwed the mental programming schedule just enough for Colonel O'Neill to arrive 'before' the boy was broken down enough for delivery.

Lt. Van Sickle must have a guardian angel. Now he has a Black Ops Colonel and a formal First Prime too. If only that were enough to keep him safe, for I know that his newest guardians are followed by hordes of devils and demons.

Money just appeared in our bad doctor's account, each time from a different one time use only account, Major Carter spent a great deal of time hacking for me this time. Untraceable.

His orders received, by e-mail, phone or personal visit. All untraceable. Even his retirement package couldn't be traced. And from the looks of that package all of us were working on the wrong side.

Currently he and, er... 'Mr. A. Whole'? And I have yet to hear the explanation behind that name. Both men are sedated in the Infirmary, well, that's not entirely true. Seems Mr. Whole is catatonic and needs no sedation. He is in full restraints. Now that we need Mackenzie he's not around.

There are two squads of SFs looking for Dr Mackenzie and Captain Cochran, they will have a great deal of explaining to do once they are found.

All other participants in this non-conspiracy have spent the day in the conference room outside my office awaiting my pleasure. When I have a question or need information I visit them. They are a most subdued group presently.

Teal'c was not subdued. He has spent most of this day inside my office, sporting an extremely pleased look. Causing me to double take every time my sight crossed his face, it was so unnatural and sinister on him. Unable to stand that smug satisfaction I told him about losing contact with O'Neill. The difference was startling and unsettling. It is times like these that remind me that Teal'c is not a man, even if he looks like one and I insist inside that he is.

He is alien, like Thor or the Nox, unpredictable and dangerous no matter how much they profess to care for humans. How O'Neill can make that kind of leap of faith with the unknown is beyond me. These beings hardly have the same values as we. Yet, Jack places his life in this 'man's' hands routinely and trusts him with lives that are important to him, mine included.

Is there wisdom in that? Or folly?

Teal'c's reaction to my news has me feeling petty. After all, being alien, he did his best to meet the challenge of our culture. Some humans I know would not have done half as well. Who am I to crush him like this? Jack's friend and O'Neill's commander, that's who. I have the duty, responsibility and pleasure of looking out for the man. Despite what his other friends do.

As for the performance in Holding, Teal'c was less than forthcoming with an explanation. And what little he did say was steeped in Jaffa tradition. As O'Neill would say 'that Jaffa revenge thing.' That statement I'm afraid is more truth than not. It seems that these men messed with Teal'c's adopted family and that is not tolerated by any Jaffa. One group wiping out the out, to a soul, solves similar squabbles on Chulac. Needless to say such squabbles don't happen often there. Making me wonder just what he had originally planned and why did he change it. Don't get me wrong, this shows promise; Jaffa can learn to change their ways and accept a different morality. This one did. Would there have to be an 'O'Neill' for each Jaffa to achieve this? Let's hope not.

Further proof of Teal'c's acceptance of a different morality showed when I lectured him extensively about his behavior and circumventing my authority. Pointing out that O'Neill was my subordinate as an example. He took it well, in near silence, but did offer up a monosyllabic apology, I think. But no promises to avoid repeat performances.

Now I wish I could get this man to O'Neill, put that fierce determination to a better use. Protecting someone who needs it, Jack would have a hard time convince this 'man' to back off. Having Teal'c at his back right now would make me feel much better. First we have to establish communication with PBX 123, sending people though the Stargate blind is foolhardy. Anything could have happened and in my experience probably has.

This whole thing is a mess, there will be some very private conversation and memos generated from this. As for action, all I can do is ship the two prisoners on to an outside legal group that deals with this kind of thing. They will spend time in a military lockdown until a solution is come to, which I hope is long in coming.

Damn! Not knowing what happened is frustrating. The only real fact I know is that the Stargate exists and works, as for the planet. Lord knows.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

Monty helped tie the knots in my makeshift rope harness, my bound fingers were getting good, but this was difficult. I fidgeted unceasingly, anxious to get to the Colonel. Marie lay on her stomach at the lip of the canyon, binoculars glued to her face. She'd been that way all the time Captain Ellis and I worked to get me roped up for the descent down to the unmoving man.

It had taken all three of us to get the FRED lifted and wedged onto rocks that held all four wheels above the ground. We placed the front against a convenient boulder wide enough to use as a stop, before lifting the chassis. The wheels would be used as powered pulleys; the boulder would stabilize the FRED against the pull of the rope that would lower me down the rock wall. Since the front wheels would be used, we could angle them via the steering control, enabling us to place the drop point of the rope in a wide area along the canyon lip before it. Thank goodness the FREDs used air filled tires; we deflated the tires. The empty tires would now cradle and hold the rope. We had a winch.

Monty turned to place the rope on our makeshift winch, while I picked up an armful of rope, carrying it to the jump off point, about twenty feet to left of the FRED. I stopped beside Captain Everett's awkwardly positioned body; she was using her bad arm as a prop. She used the good one to hold the glasses as she leaned over the precipice.

"Captain?" I let her rank hold all my questions and hopes. Not moving she answered.

"I'm sorry Sir, no signs of life from the Colonel yet. He could be asleep or…"

"Unconscious or dead," my voice flat. I felt shame wash over me, such a stupid thing to say. "Damn, I really need to kick this trend for pessimism, it's really depressing," I put a lot of optimism and an unfelt lightheartedness into those words. Trying to reassure Marie and possibly myself that all would turn out well, despite my constant assumptions that it would not.

A hand clamps onto my shoulder.

"I don't see how Marie can see anything down there, it's too dark."

Captain Ellis' words has me checking the sky for the position of the sun, I hadn't noticed how long the shadows had become. Night was coming on fast. Would I be able to get the Colonel out before full dark?

"Then we should get this show on the road," I declared.

Marie got up, putting the binoculars safely on the ground; she would control the rope as it slides over the edge of the canyon. I sat, legs dangling, next to the folded plastic tarp the rope would slide across rather than the cutting rock. Monty returned to the FRED to take up the slack and engage the drive. I heard the quite whine of the engine, then felt a gentle tug on the rope harness telling me that the rope was now tensioned, it was time for me to go over the side. I nervously eyed the drop into the gathering gloom below me. I wasn't afraid of heights; I just had a very heightened respect for them. Very heightened.

I glanced back to Monty getting a thumbs up, then over to Marie who smiled reassuringly. I took one last look down.

"He goes," I puffed out as I slithered over the edge.

I hung by my elbows for a nano-second before I felt the rope slacken, I let myself slide, groping with my feet for purchase on the smooth unseen rock face I hung against. Finding my feet, I pressed against the stone and leaned back into nothingness, bouncing just a bit I tested my stability. I glanced up to see Marie still smiling at me; I nodded prompting her hand signal to Monty. I began a slow, short bite repel down the wall. I had a good one-handed grip. As my maimed hand wasn't much of help at this, I crooked my elbow around the rope, thankful for the tough fabric of my BDU jacket. I felt the fabric begin to heat as my arm slid down the rope.

We had all decided that I would go down the wall a good twenty feet downstream of the Colonel's position. None of us wanted to bring any debris down onto the injured man during my decent. Having better than 150' of clear canyon lip to use, we could move the rope above or below that mark with ease.

And, I was, bringing down debris. Dislodged, stones clanged loudly on other stones below on the canyon floor. Many boomed and bounced repeatedly; nearing the bottom many no longer had multiple landings, as they could no longer achieve the velocity necessary to energize those bounces. Skittering was now the sound they made.

So intent on the distracting sounds of the falling rocks I staggered and nearly went down, I had attempted to repel without anywhere to go.

'Stupid, Eric. Pay attention damn it!'

I twisted to lean my back against the wall, fumbling with the knots, to unleash myself from my now unnecessary support. My legs trembled. I stretched out my maimed hand trying to loosen the burning bicep of that arm; I had hung a lot of my weight on that crooked elbow. As the rope dropped away from me, I keyed my radio.

"I'm down. Haul up the rope and send down the packs."

I received three clicks in response no words were necessary. There was no new information to pass.

I hastily stepped over the writhing rope headed for the Colonel.

Go to: Chapter Twelve


	12. Chapter 12

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

All I could see was the dark downed tree against the darker rock, just a dim silhouette in the rapidly deepening gloom. Placing my feet became secondary, as I stumbled more than once, not because of the lack of light, but from my mind-numbing haste. Finally I reached him, only to freeze in sudden fear. Need pushed out my hand, hot fingers groped for a pulse on his cold, death-still throat.

Time stopped, or at least for me it did. Being only marginally aware of its passing, I hung suspended within that relentless current as my brain processed the sensations my fingertips reported, then time jolted back into motion.

"He's alive," I breathed in wonder over my open mic, my fingers still gently resting on the Colonel's cold-hardened skin. Reveling in the study throb there.

He lay nearly flat on his back and just slightly on his right side; his neck exposed as his head lolled towards me, lying on the drift of sand that all but buried him. I flicked my flashlight on, planting it in the damp grains, angled to glance its beam off the canyon wall to scatter the light. The Colonel's right arm rested curled before him in a finger scooped crater, his attempt to dig out.

"Sir? Packs on the way. I tied a light to them... Sir?" 

Glancing up in response to Monty's words I spotted a bobbing light above me. The effort I expended to pull away from this man who was so important to me was Herculean in stature, but I succeeded. He needed me to. I needed me to.

As the clicks of acknowledgement of my transmission sounded, I was already sprinting to the lowering supplies. I have no conscious memory of freeing the packs, of the rope being drawn up or my return to the Colonel. I was just there.

From the outside of one of the packs, I plucked off a canteen, just one of a couple tied on. None of us wanted to risk using water from the creek, who knew what death could lurk there, we had seen small corpses drifting in its current more than once. Pulling a bandanna from my vest, I wet it before softly mopping it across the unresponsive man's face. Once cleared of dirt and sand I used the pack's flashlight to study the face before me.

'Shit! Eric, just when are you going to start thinking ahead!'

In my lack of foresight I had cleaned off the dirt and sand, yes. But, I probably caused damage doing it; O'Neill's face was red and swollen with sunburn and exposure.

As red and puffy as he was, an underlying paleness prevailed where I know a healthy golden hue was the norm for this robust soldier.

Determined to prevent even the slightest discomfort from any more of my bungling I gently reached both hands up to his head, running my fingers methodically over his skull, the back of his neck, brow and anywhere else I could reach looking for injuries. I found a couple of little bumps on his head, a gash in the hairline above his right eye. A few scratches on his face and neck, not deep, but they were angry and raised. Bruising was just showing along his left jaw, visible proof of his struggle to survive.

His exposed hand and arm was also bruised, scraped and scratched. He'd a few fingernails torn off raggedly, one having bleed heavily. The rest of his body was encased in the sand. His head cleared the hard rock of the canyon wall by a few inches, explaining some of the bumps on his head. The badly battered tree loomed, probably pressing him into rock. A short ragged stub of a branch located on its trunk close to the Colonel's face appeared to have had been twisted off. If he had done that, it would explain the scratches on his face and arm. But, in that, I was speculating.

Even trapped as he was he had tried to dig himself out of drifted sand, but the angle he was pinned at precluded any success on his own. Although not from lack of trying. He needed help to accomplish that and I was that help.

Moving around to far side I began digging. It didn't take me long to discover snugged into the man's side was a truncated main side limb leading off from the tree. It had hooked him at the top of the hips dragging him along and later protected him from the current, standing between him and what ever came along. More digging revealed that he wasn't actually pinned against the canyon wall, but against a boulder between his back and the cliff wall. He must have taken a beating when the tree slammed him into the boulder. Here I ceased digging.

I needed to think about the dynamics here. Now was the time to think ahead. For once.

The tree didn't rest on the Colonel's chest; there was about two inches of sand between them. The cutoff limb, that no doubt snatched him out of the water as the tree shot past, did not touch the canyon wall or boulder, twice the span of packed sand between them. But, the Colonel was in direct contact with the boulder, which was also in direct contact with the rock wall. The tree had room to shift; the Colonel didn't have anywhere to go. And that buried limb was awful close.

Looking at the tree I wondered just how much of it was hidden in the drift of sand, the Colonel was imbedded in the very top of it. The sand might be here because of the tree, making the tree large and probably stable. Or, there could be a different, hidden reason for the sand dropping out of the current here, making the hidden part of the tree smaller and less stable.

Digging out the Colonel was not the best of ideas. I needed to dig out the tree first. And, that wasn't entirely the best idea either. Digging out the tree could drop it on the pinned man; two inches of sand would be nothing against even the visible part of the tree.

Crap!

I keyed my radio.

"Captain Ellis?"

"_Here he is, Sir,"_ squeaked out Captain Everett's voice before Monty spoke up. _"Sir?"_

"You might as well bed down for the night. This is going to take time and daylight," I ordered tiredly, my hope for an easy, quick solution very much beyond my reach now.

"Sir,…" 

"No. It's too dark and I'll need both of you up there to help get us up that wall. You stay there. I'll be all right. Just keep the radio near, just in case."

"_Yes, Sir, I'm not happy, but understood. I'll be listening. Good luck, Sir. Out."_

Monty's voice was ragged with disappointment and worry, but it was safer to have them up there. With my one handed grip I would need their help getting out of this canyon, even with the winch we improvised.

At the silence, I felt an overwhelming depression descend on me. Here I was, stuck in a situation that shouted life-and-death-decision making time. Every doubt of my life loomed before me; I began to feel panicked. Closing my eyes I thought about the last time I felt like this, where I had been and most importantly who had been with me and summoning up his face I again saw the certainty in his eyes and heard the conviction of his voice. Fight back against the panic I heaved off my yoke of hopelessness. Remembering he had told me I could do this. And -- I will.

Opening my eyes, my inspiration lay broken before me, that such a strong man could come to this I felt the despair slash into me again.

'_Just explain to me why you can't do this.'_

What! But...

'_No, buts. I believe you can do this. You are the only one who doesn't believe.'_

Those remembered words put the brakes on my downward spiral faster than a bullet hitting a steel plate. He was right then and he's right now, the only thing holding me back was myself. I had to get beyond the idea that I couldn't do things. I certainly never would if I didn't at least try. Mentally I kicked myself for my own stupidity.

What should I do first? That should have been my first and only thought. Well, now was the time to begin a new way of thinking.

It was getting cold. A fire? Yes, but not yet. O'Neill had been here God only knows how long buried in cold, damp sand. I needed to start getting him warm, and my traveling companions and I had already discussed the options available to help this man with the equipment and supplies we had. Warming him would be first.

Remembering the coolness of his skin as I felt for a pulse, an idea was born. I dug out the hot packs and some of the spare clothing we'd brought. Activating the packs and wrapping them in cloth I placed them against his head and neck, packing more cloth over that to keep the heat in. The scalp is an extremely efficient radiator of heat and can be used just as well in reverse.

Kneeling back, I studied him, the tree and the canyon wall, just what their spatial relationship was. Puzzling out just where I could put the fire to warm him further. Reflector and windshield sprang to mind. I eyed the naked, battered semi-upright tree that bent back away from the canyon wall. Perfect!

First, a spar, or straight branch was needed. Finding one right off was luck; I pulled out a plastic tarp and some parachute cord, mentally thanking Captain Marie Everett for her Earth-side wilderness training. She and Captain Ellis had forced the knowledge of every trick of survival they knew or heard of on me. Their persistence was paying off. Never again would I balk in such a situation again. No one knows everything and apparently everyone knows something no one else seems to.

The straight branch became the top support between tree and canyon wall for the tarp; the tree became an upright corner support. The cord was binder and support beyond the tree; I tied that end off to a boulder. I had two walls to block the breeze and reflect the heat. I built the fire pit nearest the free standing wall, the fire's heat would be trapped between the two walls of the tarp and third wall of the canyon, leaving one open end, which I hoped would be downwind, not up.

Pulling the packs closer in, I propped them against the rock wall, well away from the now burning fire. Again drawn to the Colonel I placed the back of my hand against his cheek, I wasn't sure if he felt warmer or not. Knowing there was much to do I reluctantly left to gather wood, lots of wood. And cobbles.

It was going to be a long night.

With sizable piles of broken wood and cobbles, I tended to the fire and carefully slid a couple of stones into the edge of it; I'd need to get them back out again later. When the chemical heat packs were gone, these stones would stand in, warming the Colonel.

Already the air inside the three walled makeshift room was warmer, the surface of the sand was drying out. Crouching down next to the object of my concern I carefully felt his cheek, trying to gage his temperature. He felt warmer, this time I was sure of it.

Not knowing a great deal of first aid, just the basics as taught to every airman, I knew I would need more than basics off world and had intended on taking additional courses after settling into the SG Team I was assigned to, but then that stupid accident happened. Now Marie and Monty's words began playing in my head, deciding what I needed to do next I pinched the skin of the Colonel's forearm, it was slow to snap back into shape. Dehydration. So, getting fluids into him would be my next project.

What I was doing scared the Hell out of me, if I screwed up my newest friend would drown, or choke or God knows what. Gently I held his jaw and pulled down to open his mouth to dribble water into it, watching as his throat contracted in a rippling motion, reflexively swallowing the liquid even while he was unconscious. He needed to breathe, too much too fast would be disastrous; I had never been so careful before. His breathing was slow, shallow and regular. Letting a dozen breaths go by before I dribbled more liquid into him. My hands and arms ached, and my back was hot as the fire was behind me. The day had been physically hard; these small steady movements were practically impossible, my muscles constantly trembling with fatigue. And the canteen was slippery in my faulty grasp; I had dropped it more times than I cared to think about. Maybe I should duct tape it to my hand?

Cough.

I dropped the canteen, splashing water across the man beside me. My shock-widened eyes watched as the Colonel's eyelids fluttered, his breathing picked up and deepened and he coughed again.

"Sir, Colonel O'Neill. Are you awake?"

His eyes popped open just to slam shut again, tears squeezed out to run across side of his face headed for his ears.

'It's too bright Eric!'

I leaned over the stricken man, blocking the light and lay my good hand over his eyes.

"Sir, try again. I've covered your eyes. Open them. Please."

Lashes tickled across the palm of my hand.

"Sir, I'm going to uncover your eyes slowly. Okay?"

Something squeezed my knee, looking down I saw his hand had latched onto it. I hadn't noticed him move at all.

As I slowly lifted my hand, I leaned further over him until my face was only a hand span above his. His dark eyes sparked amber highlights in the flickering light of the fire reflecting from the flat surfaces around us. Blinking, a tear oozed down the side of his nose, I don't think he was really focusing on anything.

Picking up the canteen I brushed sand from it before offering it to him. Drinking slowing, deliberately, he knew he needed water, and knew enough to not chug it down. Relief washed though me, if he could do that, then his head must be okay, despite the bumps. He just wasn't quite all the way with me yet, was all.

He stopped drinking and was looking at me intently, focused for the first time; I pulled the canteen away. He was trying to puzzle out just who I was. He closed his eyes a couple of times and coughed.

"Eric?"

His voice was a raw, dry whisper, nothing like his normal loud could-be-heard-everywhere voice.

"Yes, Eric. How do you feel Sir?"

"Resurrected," he rasped out grimacing in pain. "Warmer."

"Good, I was beginning to worry you'd never wake up, Sir," I grinned, hoping his sight was good enough to see the expression on my face.

"I didn't think I would either," he admitted breathlessly. He tried to move and yelped, slamming his eyes shut.

"Sir, how badly are you hurt?"

"Not sure, feels bad."

"Where?"

"Ah... everywhere. Back is worst."

"I know you can move your free arm, what about the other one and can you feel or move your legs?"

"Toes wiggle... boots aren't crushed." Closing his eyes, he seemed to be concentrating. The sand over his left arm humped a bit and he let out a puff of breath, before saying, "Ah... can't feel or move my legs."

"Probably from being buried, Sir. If you can feel and wiggle your toes you should be all right," I was ecstatic, but the back pain still worried me. A person with a broken back could feel and move their legs, but if they were moved incorrectly that could all disappear. Forever.

"How bad is the back, Sir?"

"Bad enough to want a painkiller desperately, and it's 'Jack,' " he grated out, a ghost of a smile on his ruddy face.

"I think I can handle that... Jack. How about something to eat?"

"Yeah, that would be good. Something warm?"

"You got it, Jack."

I already had hot water and had been pouring as much as possible into the comatose Colonel, besides keeping myself supplied with tea and coffee, trying to stay awake. I could easily make some broth. Get that and some highly sugared tea into him to help replenish his reserves. Give him a shot of morphine; let him recoup during the rest of the night. Then dig that damn tree out and haul him up the canyon wall to the FRED. Yep, it was a simple, easy to achieve plan.

He took the broth and tea well. My use of the hot cobbles impressed him, giving me a wonderful feeling of accomplishment. Even in his dire condition he joked with me, telling me he had wondered why he was trussed up like an obese mummy and the cobbles explained that. I laughed. He grinned. Then I pulled out the ampoule of morphine.

"No way, lieutenant," his voice stronger than at any time since he awoke.

I was confused.

"Not that, Tylenol or Advil. No narcotics."

"But, Jack... Sir. Those aren't strong enough."

"No narcotics."

**General George Hammond**

Teal'c has been haunting the Stargate; every time I've turned from it he was there, standing in the shadows of the Control Room, or in the open of the Embarkation Room. There one minute, gone the next, but always present every time the Gate opened from a world that is considered safe, one that can be used as a way station to ours, for some the only way home when deprived of their GDO's or if throwing off pursuit. Even I've caught myself headed for the Gate when those worlds are due to connect, how the Jaffa knows is beyond me, it's something that I should be concerned about, but have decided that I will not be.

This time he was the last to slip though the closing blast doors, following the squad of SFs whose duty is to stand ready when the Gate connects, even if it's from our side. He stands in full sight, not in the least worried that he should not be there, centered between the SFs and the caution strips. Not looking anywhere but at the Gate, expectantly.

Feeling somewhat expectant myself I approach Sgt. Davis, he has been here for every connection, something that should be impossible with the rotation schedule I've approved. Perversely I'm grateful he has bucked the schedule. Being in charge, I can overlook such small indiscretions. We are, at times, more family than military.

Returning my attention back to the sergeant he goes though his routine once, twice, and is well into the fourth when I place a hand on his shoulder, he looks up, devastated. No words are needed; the plea is there in his eyes. We both know what comes next -- in one year.

With a snap the Gate disconnects. For the final time.

Startled I look toward the cause of the sound and encounter Teal'c's eyes, he looks right at me, I'm fairly certain I know what he wants.

Now is when a team is listed as lost and no further attempts are made to contact them. Word is put out to our allies and anyone else who might hear of them. In a year we try again, but no one has ever been found after that time.

Teal'c's gaze is insistent.

Being in charge also means on occasion I can overlook the rules, and this is the occasion I choose to overlook them. This attempt never happened. My nod answers the Jaffa's never voiced question. He performs that eloquent head bow that isn't a bow before striding after the departing SFs. Tearing my eyes from his departing back, I turn to Sgt. Davis.

"Sergeant, schedule another attempt in twelve hours. Something tells me things will be different then."

The sergeant grins shyly.

Lt. Eric Van Sickle 

"_Ah, Sir?"_ Rasped from my vest, startled I'd forgotten about Ellis and Everett above me. I keyed the radio.

"I'm here," releasing the key I waited.

"Sir, please look upstream."  
Puzzled I did as Captain Everett requested, standing to peer over the strung up tarp I saw nothing. Quickly glancing down to check the Colonel I checked again for what Marie wanted me to see and I saw it.  
"Shit!"  
Echoed in the empty silent canyon, I hadn't even realized I had spoken in my shock. 

"_I take it you see the problem Sir?"_ Keying the radio, I answered her.

"Ah, yes. Is that what I think it is?"

"_We saw lightening off to the west before dawn."_

Jeez, that wasn't good news, I needed to dig the Colonel out and get him up the canyon wall now. Staring back upstream, I could see the trickle of water was already bigger, my imagination just couldn't conjure that much of a change in just a few minutes. It sunk in that I might not have any time at all. So not good!

"Marie, I need two ropes rigged and a shovel."

"_Sir… Eric. Monty is already working on it."_ Even through the rasp of the transmission I heard her concern, her worry and her fear.

My eyes were drawn to the thread of water; to deny its existence I forced my gaze away. Brilliant amber eyes locked with mine, without thought I had looked down to check on the Colonel as I had numerous times during my conversation over the radio, but this time he was awake and appeared to be very much aware of what was going on.

"Sir, there's a problem."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Uh... I think the canyon is about to flood again. I have to dig you out and fast, careful is something I don't have time for. Not liking this Sir, not liking this at all," if I he were anyone else I might have giving into tears of frustration.

What I was trying to tell him was that I was literally going to jerk him out of the sand with no thought to his present injuries or any that the jerking could cause. Hoping to God that the tree would stay put. I was going to hurt him and maybe hurt him bad. It was that or watch him drown. I couldn't do that. Hurting him to get him out was going to be bad enough.

Command sucked.

XXX

Keying my radio, I loudly ordered the slow uptake of the ropes, the acknowledgement inaudible over the roar of the deepening water. My tether tightened, taking up the slack in preparation to lifting both of us at my signal, and to give that signal, I left the radio in send as my hands would be full.

Straining against the now short damp lease of the rope I pushed my back against the rock and planted my booted feet securely against the slippery, vibrating tree. Partially submerged as it was, the water was having an effect on it and I hoped that would help me push it away, freeing the Colonel. I pushed for all I was worth, the water was up to Colonel's neck. It was hard to conceive that it had only been twenty minutes since the water first reached him.

My thigh and calve muscles burned, my feet, even protected by boots, seem to bend around the slim and not quite pliant enough tree. As my feet were pretzel-ed so was my back, as I now only contacted the rock across my shoulder blades. Something had to give and I was afraid that it would be me rather than the tree or what ever it was stuck in.

Since the radio was in send Ellis and Everett could only listen, hearing the thrum of the water and my grunts of desperate exertion.

The only warning I had was a high pitched scream that must have come from Marie Everett as I was shoved violently sideways by a wall of water. I held my tension against the tree just long enough to feel it break free as I dropped to a sudden sharp stop just below the muddy waters. Branches scraped across my arms as I clawed in the murky sluggish current for the Colonel, feeling a real fear that the tree had taken him again. That fear died when I fleetingly struck a soft body. Then the rope around my chest bit deep as I was literally jerked into the air, losing my fragile grip on that soft body, I cried out in anger, drowned by the water I expelled with that cry. Blinded and trying desperately to clear the gritty water from my mouth, the constant roar of the moving flood echoing in the canyon was split by a human voice.

"Christ!"

That cry had been ripped from the Colonel's throat as the rope took his weight and lifted him upwards, but not quite clear of the swirling floodwaters. I cringed at the pain he must be in for him to cry out like that. Urgently I tried to move closer to him, but the same waters hampered me as I hung from my own rope next to him.

We twisted and swung above the coursing flood that ensnared our lower legs, buffeting us against the wet, cold stone of the canyon, preventing me from reaching him. All I could do was interpose my body between the Colonel and the hard rock wall that loomed way too close, an attempt that was thwarted by our violent independent motion. Chance then allowed me to snag him with my good hand and I pulled him closer, snugging his back up against my chest, using my body to shield it. His painful words are all but snatched away by the passage of the deluge.

"Lieutenant. No! Let go! Damn! Hurts like hell."

Obedience kicked in before thought and I let go like I'd touched a flame. My ill-considered move bashed me into rock wall, I steadied myself with a hand planted against slippery stone and transferred that support with the other hand and O'Neill as I shouted my concern to him.

"Sir, you'll hurt a hell of a lot more if you hit this rock."

"Ah…Shit! 'Kay. Just stay away from the back."

That idea I wasn't crazy about; it left his injured back exposed, too exposed I thought. Maybe if I could keep his back to the open canyon, it would work, until a tree happened by. Pushing and pulling I was at last face-to-face with him, carefully I wrapped my arms around him. His loud cursing was constantly punctuated with short sharp inarticulate cries when jolted too hard.

"Sir, can you wrap you arms around me and hold on."

The water had risen to my thighs; at least we were at the edge of the current, now shielded by the very tree that had held the Colonel prisoner for so long. It only seemed right somehow, it had shifted enough to release its captive, but not enough to escape itself.

"Sorry."

I lent my head down to his face, unsure of just what I had heard. His hair tickled my lips as I asked for clarification.

"I don't understand."

"Can't move 'em."

"God, Sir. I'm sorry. When did this happen?"

"Rope."

Rope? Oh... since the rope took all of his weight, probably injuring his back further. This was so not a good sign, but it was either let him drown or risk irrecoverable spinal damage. Not much of a choice. Crap, command really sucks.

Tightening my grip on the Colonel, we swung at the end of our ropes, hanging just within the grasp of the raging wall of water roaring past us. O'Neill's face rested tiredly in the hollow of my throat; I could feel his body's uncontrollable trembling and hear his soft panting. Panting that was probably his instinctual attempt to control the pain. Again I regretted having not pushed the idea of him taking the morphine. He was in a lot of pain. You couldn't miss that; he was very vocal about it, cursing and muttering. As I adjusted my grip on him, I felt another sign of his agony. His body was rigid. And I knew that wasn't good, tensing up just makes the pain worse.

"Sir, you need to relax. I know it's hard, but you're just aggravating the problem tensing up. Please."

"Try'n ta. 'fraid I might… pass out."

"That wouldn't be such a bad idea, Sir," I lamely joked.

"In your hands," he sighed, his breath warming my neck.

And with that odd phrase his whole body suddenly slackened, I quickly reached up to prevent his head from falling backwards as he slipped down an inch or two. What the hell just happened? I checked for all the vital signs I could. What I found was relieving. Then his last words sunk in. He was putting his life _in my hands_. Literally. Shit!

He trusted me with his life.

I wrapped my body around his as much as I could and nearly wept at him giving me such a gift, and burden.

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

Hot. I'm damned hot. Something heavy and warm is lying across my lap. But that wasn't what woke me; it was the fricking whimpering that dredged me up from my restless and uncomfortable slumber, slumber my foot, it nothing more than a drunken stupor. I musta really tied one on last night. Crap! My fingers slipped though the dampness of drool smeared down my shirt. Yuck!

Squinting into the darkness, light seeped from under a door across from me, making me wonder just where here is. Shit, my head hurts, hurts just bad enough to want to close my eyes against that smidgen of light. Where the hell am I? Hotel?

Oh, yeah back to what woke me, the whimpering. Not from me, of that I was sure. My hands rested on the weight over my lap, it was a warm, sweaty weight. There was soft hair tangled in my left hand and the other was exploring. Hmm... nice skin. Who had I gotten lucky with? Pleasant erotic thoughts drifted hazily though the remnants of my drink gutted brain. Oh, that delicious skin, I must have gotten _really_, really lucky.

Under my questing fingers a neck throbbed with life, slow and steady, tracing down and over a firm shoulder my fingers stop at a very nice clavicle. My swelling interest had me squirming; I was getting just a little excited here. Whoa boy, she's not even awake and I don't remember us being properly introduced, but if we had, and this was the result, I'd pretend that we hadn't. Just to go though the process again.

Relishing that pleasant stirring down south I allowed my fingers to continue over that delicious clavicle to encounter the softest, springy carpet of hair I'd ever felt, then I found a nub of a nipple. Escalation. Down boy! Gently I indulged in a sensual tracing of the outer edge of the found object... Oooh, that's nice, ah... it's kinda... flat. Hmmm... a flat nipple, on a flat... breast? And it's kinda of large...

Spreading my fingers over the mound in question I feel its hardness... flat... hard... breast? Covered... in hair? Now... why does this sound _really_, really familiar...

With a snap, I lifted my fingers, straight up, trapping them under clothing. Damn, I couldn't get away fast enough! Simultaneously another part of me swiftly shrunk and sought to hide. And of course then a moan issued for the form holding me prisoner on the rather hard narrow bed. Bed! Shit, a bed that felt very much like a bunk, boot camp teaches you to never forget that feel. Quickly squashing my real need to stand and drop this rather unusual date to the floor -- at least I assumed there was a floor, too damned dark to tell for sure -- I decided that move might draw attention to my uninvited body exploration and I still had my hand in a bad place. I certainly didn't want to wake my bed companion. Yet!

My stupid left hand had all this time been absently stroking hair, ah... short hair. God, this is not good! I've been with some women with short hair, but this was _really_, really short in all the wrong places. Not to mention the, ah... rather manly chest.

Crap!

MacKenzie.

Lights exploded in my head as it all came crashing back to me. Me. MacKenzie. My Christmas gifts. And then the SFs. Shit!

Oh, I was so in trouble, especially if the Bird Colonel woke up with my hand down his shirt like this. And then, there was the other stuff.

Like engaging in an unofficial investigation, detaining civilians without sanction. Actually, well... Teal'c did that. But I bet my butt is gonna be kicked for it. Then, I'm taken into custody while intoxicated on base, even worse, taken into custody while in a compromising position with a fellow _male _officer. A superior officer!

This may be a 'don't tell, don't ask' man's, ah... _person's_ Air Force, but how do you explain THAT!

Well, if I withdraw my hand from the inside of the Doc's shirt that would help a heap. Gods know who might show up now.

Slowly, and sweating out the eternity it took to accomplish, I pulled my hand away, wiping it across my own saliva dampened shirt to loosen the man cooties. Hey! That's what my sister called 'em. But I must admit she was eight and I was five when she did. But doing it did seem to help, never underestimate a female, even if she's only eight _and_ your sister.

How am I gonna explain this mess?

Well, you see, Sir, General Hammond, Sir. Our resident psychiatrist gets _really _friendly when he's drunk. Oh, and why was he drunk? Cause he liked the taste?

Yeah, my ass is grass. And I'm not talking Mary Jane either. We are talking mulched, shredded and turned under. That kinda grass. I'm history.

My mom is gonna be so disappointed. My dad is gonna be disappointed, my sisters, my brothers, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, godmothers, godfathers. Well -- huff -- actually the populations of about five states would cover just the immediate family. That's a lot of disappointment.

But the poor Bird Colonel, he has only himself and his mother. And from what he says she will _always_ be disappointed with him. Poor guy. Reminds me of my nephew Morrie.

My sis got mixed up with a wise guy, a professor of mathematics from Boston. A real cold fish, but there was something about him sis had to have. The fish didn't want the kid around, so he'd been fostered off on anyone she could convince to take him, until Grams caught wind of it. You've heard of the Godfather? She's the Godfather's Godmother. Ya cross her and the whole horse winds up in your bed, not just the head. Morrie lives with her now, my sis is not allowed to visit with him alone. He's doing good, but it had been bad in the beginning. MacKenzie's childhood sounded a lot like Morrie's. I like Morrie a lot.

Crap, I'm still finger combing the guy's hair, what's with that!

He had told me a lot of stuff, stuff that would allow me to own him if I wanted to, but I don't want that. I feel sorry for the schmuck. He tries so hard, but he really doesn't know what he's doing, that I'd noticed right off, he hasn't a clue. Not a clue. Poor guy.

The lights flicked on, blinding me. Though the tears I could make out General Hammond standing in the doorway, he had a funny look on his face. I would too, if I saw me doing what I'm doing. He closes the door and firms up his face, he's in command mode now and I'm gonna get my butt kicked.

Firmly up my own expression I realize I don't give a shit what this may look like. We're two guys that have just survived a brush with death. I look 'em straight in the eye and dared him to do his worst.

Crap! Am I nuts or something!

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

Voices. Actually I was hearing shouts that echoed across the canyon, nearly drowned by the thundering floodwaters.

Shit! The radio.

Loosening a hand from my precious cargo I keyed it, a crowd of incoherent voices poured out. Keying send a few times I alerted them that I was trying to answer. Silence. Ellis' voice squeaked out.

"_Sir, are you all right?"_

"Would _you_ be, if you were hanging at the end of _your_ rope?" I wise-assed back at him and was rewarded with a chuckle over the radio. My words were the only way I could think of to give reassurance and get their attention. "Get me the hell out of here."

"_Yes Sir. How's the Colonel?"_

"Not good, hurry," I spoke loudly. Making certain they could hear me. My eye followed the ropes upward, where they hung from the lip of the canyon above me. It was up to them now.

'Hurry' turned out to be a slow inching along the rock wall, bouncing off of and thudding painfully against the rough stone at each inch of gain. How could it look so smooth and feel so craggy? The rope and ourselves caught at every protrusion along the journey upwards, and from my personal experience there was no 'evenness' anywhere on that smooth stone. My arms ached from the constant fending off of the overly affectionate rock. My legs burned as I attempted to walk that vertical distance. My every move had a purpose and that was to protect the life that hung next to me.

The slow vertical journey was nearing an end, only a couple of dozen feet above my head was a face, the grinning face of Captain Marie Everett as she motioned to her unseen partner, Captain Monty Everett. Between the two of them they had coordinated my sudden elevation while I concentrated on protecting my helpless commander and friend. I was nothing more than a breathing shock absorber, a task I wouldn't trade for the world.

Crap!

How was I going to get the Colonel over the lip of the canyon? You forgot Eric, you are supposed to be thinking ahead, remember. He has a back injury; bending, pushing and yanking him is not going to help him at all. Just having him hanging like he is has got to be really bad.

Looking up see something above me. What?

Off to the side Marie is waving her arms, suddenly just a sharp silhouette against the bright sky.

"Radio," echoed loudly, drowning out the roaring of near desperation in my ears. Shit! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Reaching up I encouraged my fatigued brain into motion, released the radio from open send, and clicked three times to indicate a clear channel.

"_Sir, Monty is going to send the Stokes down to you. He thinks that you can maneuver the Colonel into it making it safer to haul him up over the edge up here."_

How I ever survived without such smart people around me, I'll never know. They had been thinking all along. This never occurred to me at all, but at its suggestion it was obvious, and simple.

"Understood. I let you know when to stop lowering it."

The Stokes basket inched down the wall from above and I radioed a stop when it was even with the Colonel and I.

"_Sir, do you know what you need to do,"_ radioed Captain Ellis.

"Yeah, Monty. I have a good idea. Remind me to give you a raise," I hear his chuckle as he acknowledged my reply.

Flipping to place my back against the chill rock, I pulled the mesh metal basket closer to my left side. I intended to swing it over my body and capture O'Neill's with it. He hung facing the stone, resting against it unconscious. Undoing its straps I heaved it over, manhandling it to gently rest against the injured man's back, neatly caging him against the canyon wall. Reaching an arm carefully passed his waist I groped for the first of many straps and pulled it between his body and the wall to join it with its mate on my side. Tightening it just enough to take out any gross slack, as I did not intend to fully tighten it until I had all the straps joined.

I felt as if all the skin of my knuckles had been scraped off onto that unyielding rock face after getting all the straps mated. Dashing sweat from my eyes I began to pull each strap fully tight; thankful that the minimal padding on the inside of the basket was somehow attached firmly enough to not cause problems. After a seeming eternity, I had the Colonel securely strapped into the rescue basket.

My last task was to flip the basket back over, with a heavy body in it that was not going to be easy. I had laboriously untied the rope from around the Colonel after the basket's straps supported him, so that would not be a hindrance, yanking and then pushing it out of my way. But the two ropes supporting the basket would be a problem as they crossed my support rope. Unless...

Reaching over I started to tie the now free rope to me. I struggled mightily with the knot, my maimed hand a bigger hurdle hanging here in the air than down below in the sand. Time and again, I failed; I had to let it happen. Let it happen. Sheer will power prevailed. Suddenly I found myself securely tethered. Now I needed to untie the other. Finding myself in another struggle with my disability I snapped, to hell with it, I released my knife from my hip sheath and sawed at the rope until it parted, I painfully jolted as the new rope took my weight and my radio erupted into alarmed voices.

"_ERIC!"_

Captain Monty Ellis' panicked voice roared from the radio at my shoulder; I winced at the volume. And am astounded by the echo of the shout that traveled the old fashioned way from the edge above me.

"Ah, sorry. I'm just switching ropes."

"_Crap, Sir. I nearly released that one, to switch in one of the basket's ropes to its place."_

Anger. I definitely heard anger.

Silently I allowed the man to lecture me until that anger died, better that than me I guess. And it would have been well deserved, I had to remember that I wasn't alone here, I had three lives dependant on me and mine on them. Apprising them of my intentions was my responsibility and I'd shirked that. My actions risked the precious gift that I was placing life and limb on the very limits of my abilities to save though my own stupidity.

Banging my forehead against the punishing rock a few times I breathed deeply, admonishing myself for my failure and promised the universe that I would try to do better, praying that somehow I was granted a modicum of wisdom for future use. Then I realized there was silence, as much silence as can be had while hanging over a noisy force of nature.

"Monty."

"_Sir."_ The word was clipped. The anger lived.

"Forgive me, what I did was stupid and you are absolutely right," dragging in a ragged breath I continued. "I'm sorry."

"Get your ass in gear and think next time... ah, Sir!"

Couldn't help but wonder how confusing it must be to have an untried lieutenant as a superior when you're a seasoned captain. Would Colonel O'Neill ask those under my command for evaluations on my performance? He'd be nuts not to and I'm not so sure I'd come out smelling like a rose, dead meat more than likely.

Go to: Chapter Thirteen


	13. Chapter 13

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

Dropping my hand from the radio I looked at it, stared at it. It shook. Closing my fingers, tightening them into a fist I wanted to choke Eric, or hug him senseless. Just wasn't sure which.

He'd just scared the hell out of me; he seems good at that. The first time he did this was subtler and far worse, when he realized Colonel O'Neill was in trouble. That lost look in his one green eye, the brightness obscured by a dark despair. It was then that I knew there was a link between these two, far deeper than any had suspected. I'd watched both of them, they were becoming fast friends, and this despair shining from the lieutenant's soul was proof that they might be more, than 'just friends.'

Who would have thought that the older, harder colonel would enter into a relationship with a green lieutenant, a colonel who is legendary within certain circles, known as a great leader in the heat of the moment. Not one to back off or down because things looked bad. I know people die with leaders like him. You hear about the hard-assed, no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners, leave-no-witnesses man with a heart of ice. How very, very wrong.

When I first saw him, he was rather unimposing, frumpy. Clothing that had to be hiding his bad state of physical fitness, such as a beer gut to go with the common and not-so-humorous humor he spouted often and loudly, surrounded by a team of smart-looking and smart-acting professionals who appeared to be covering for his lack of intelligence. A fallen legend. How very, very wrong.

Because I made all the wrong assumptions, I turned to a young lieutenant in hopes of finding a leader. Even in such an unorthodox structure of reversed ranks. To my surprise, he showed he was becoming one. Behind the physical and the still obvious mental damage, shown the makings of a leader, and to find him in such a state, in such a place, was frustrating. He was better than what Colonel O'Neill appeared to be, yet I knew the military would never allow this talent to stay, his brilliance but a shooting star across the smoldering red giant of a legendary burned out superior officer. How very, very wrong.

It is at this point, while doubting my own intelligence, and that of the military, that I began to discover just how wrong I was. Watching Lt. Van Sickle meant by default I watched Colonel O'Neill. During the time the team was prepping for it's off world assignment both men were not often seen without the other in attendance. Since the lieutenant listened to the colonel, I began to listen too. And I made a shocking discovery. The man wasn't who I thought he was. I've always prided myself as a good judge of character, or at least, of ability. To have failed so badly in this case was embarrassing.

The red giant's vast gravity shaped the shooting star's course, propelling him towards our mutual goal with unerring accuracy. The man had his finger on us all and none of us even felt it. It was then that I realized he possessed a keen intellect, who else could project such an image of buffoonery, and make it so real no one even thought about doubting it? I certain hadn't. Yet, still, I was very, very wrong.

Colonel O'Neill was not a red giant, not an elderly star destined to become a cold cinder and future hazard to navigation. He was a vital living massive star, a star which when it dies creates a vacuum so profound that light cannot escape it. I had discovered his intellect, seen his tactical skills and even a hint of his nurturing ways. All so buried inside that false facade, that none knew what he was doing, even when it was doing it. Neither was he past his physical prime, in fact, he would put a man 20 years his junior to shame. His 'clown' suit hid a lean, understated musculature that must have been composed of steel cables. He is just the wrong side of thin, but way on the other side of strong for his build. Fast, agile and graceful. A ballet of economic motion hidden in a shambling gait.

And how did I see all of this? Very simple. Eric Van Sickle. That young man is doted upon by this legend in clown clothing. Oh, he was good at hiding it, but then you'd catch his eyes when he believed no one was looking, they softened. How well I know that look. The same look my wife gives our son, the same look I give to them both. Love cannot be hidden, even by a master of misdirection such as Colonel O'Neill.

I'm sure that I don't see all of the man, only what leaks through the mask. Somehow, I get the distinct impression that he is a childless father looking for a place to happen. And it seems that Eric is his choice of location. I wish him well in that course of his orbit. For as a father myself, I can see that Lt. Van Sickle needs the approval of an older man, a surrogate father. He has that look, the same look that some of the children my dear wife welcomes into our home have. Those children from places I would never call home. Their eyes never allow us to venture into that world more than a day or two; it is just too painful. So, we are only the first way station in their journey. As Colonel O'Neill is Eric Van Sickle's last. I hope.

Watching the two of them acting like hooligans that day certainly confused most of our group, except for a few of us. Those of us experienced with children knew what was happening, even if appearances could be misconstrued in other, ugly ways. Theirs was the play of innocents, a delight for any parent to behold.

My had anger cooled somewhat by just remembering who these two men were to me, and the rest of this mission group, I focused on them, as their lives literally hung in the balance before me, and that made me uncomfortable. Captain that I was, command was not my area, I was an advisor, nothing more, these men stood between all of us and possible disaster. And I was about to hand back to them the responsibility that for the last hour had been mine. I hoped.

Things were going smoothly, that should have been my first clue. The second was that Eric was slipping downwards; he and the Colonel had been just beyond my questing fingertips, now Eric was a hand further away. He didn't seem aware that he was not moving upwards with the Stokes. What was happening?

Unknowingly I had grasped his rope, it felt rough, and looking at it; it appeared frayed.

Damn.

Shifting my weight onto a hip I craned my neck to look behind me, past my supine body towards the FRED, zeroing in on the rope that stretched between me and it. What I saw froze my heart in mid beat, it was thin, too thin, and it was about to part.

Flopping back onto my stomach I squirmed up to the cliff edge.

"Eric! Grab onto the basket," I shouted out forcefully; I watched him raise his eyes from the man he was protecting to mine, he looked puzzled. Worse of all he was not doing as I asked -- demanded.

"NOW!"

The command was screamed in my best drill sergeant voice, the rope pinged past me into the air above him just as he got his good hand firmly wrapped around an edge of the basket, the other, the maimed one, he was still trying to get to obey him, it wasn't. Reaching out, I lunged for, and got a fist full of his shirt, which of course I only succeeded in blinding him when it slipped up his body. Using my tenuous connection, I slithered forward to allow my other arm as much reach as possible, snagging him under an arm, pulling for all I was worth. I began to slide toward nothingness. No way was I letting go, but when something gripped me around the ankles and startled me, I almost did. It had to be Marie; she was hauling my ass back where it belonged.

"Come on, kid. Get a grip. NOW!" I yelled at him frantically, hoping to scare him into saving himself and me. Finally he got a good grip on the slowly rising Stokes, however his rope hung below him trying to drag him down. It may not have looked like much, but it weighed more than enough to make his 'kitten clinging to the side of a chair' act difficult.

"Marie, let go! Get to the FRED. Be ready," I felt her release my ankles as I let go of Eric, slowly, opening my hands, extending my fingers fully, afraid that if I moved too fast, or too far, he'd slip away. I snatched in a hand to pull out my pocketknife and set to work sawing at the rope, my eyes focused on Eric's, his boring into mine, all I saw was determination. Not a hint of fear, I know mine showed enough of that for both of us. The rope drifted in loops to the raging water below, instantly pulled into nonexistence. The Stokes had only inches to go before its edge was level with the lip of the canyon, when it reached that point I raised a fisted hand and felt the ropes quiver as Marie stopped the FRED.

As I reached down to pull at Eric, I heard her running steps and felt her fall against my side before her arms too, reached for our commander and between the two of us and a little help from him he was pulled from the abyss.

And just as suddenly as he was sitting there -- safe -- a horrendous crack split the air. There below us, the skeletal tree crashed into the canyon wall before being sucked straight down in a rapidly forming whirlpool. The whole drift of sand must have moved, creating a vast vacuum, and a death trap. I marveled at a sight I thought never to witness in my life, its deadliness made me shiver.

Eric, legs mostly still in the canyon, leaned out for a better view. Though instinct I latched onto his arm, determined that he would not slip back into that chasm, he was here and would stay here. He felt my hand tightly gripping his upper arm and he swung to face me and spoke.

"Thanks."

A simple word, the complex ones scudded across his face and though his eye telling me all I needed to know and I smiled. For the moment all was right with the world, but just for the moment.

"Jack."

Never had a small word held so much emotion as O'Neill's given name coming from the young man in front of me, but it was more command than comment, and just a bit of a plea. The three of us galvanized into motion and together we finally pulled the stricken, unconscious senior officer from the maw that he has so far survived.

The metal of the basket made a horrendous noise as it scraped across the line between space and rock, one could imagine sparks flying.

Once the foot of the Stokes was firmly on the ground we lifted it up and carried it to the grouping of rocks anchoring the FRED, trailing ropes. The lieutenant was right there, kneeling beside the man checking him, as Marie and I settled to the stone across from him bent on the same task. Questions and answers flew between us all regarding O'Neill's condition and what had happened during the night below.

It didn't sound good, the man admitted to being unable to move his arms during the ascent just before passing out. Add that to the back pain and the position he was found it. It wasn't good at all, none of us knew a great deal of medicine, but we weren't stupid either. I knew we really needed to look at his injuries, but that was too risky, speed would have to do, we needed to leave and leave now. Get him to the Gate. Get him to those who did know medicine.

God, I'd forgotten the Gate. It was underwater and completely unusable. Maybe that prick Drake has discovered a solution? About time she earned her pay rather than cause trouble.

"You mentioned we had IV supplies. He's really dehydrated," Van Sickle never raised his eye as he spoke, that green orb was focused on his friend.

"Marie can take care of that, while you and I turn that FRED over, we need to get to the Gate," I gently urged, reaching across O'Neill I laid a hand on his shoulder to break into whatever private thoughts were churning inside him, bringing him back to the here and now.

The lieutenant was tired, it showed, and from his narrative of his night with the colonel he hadn't slept at all, worried, busy and too afraid to sleep. But here he was giving his all, re-inflating tires and helping me bull our transport back onto them. He took his guardianship of his superior seriously; it showed in his refusal to quit, and his level headedness, not letting O'Neill's condition or his own worry cloud his judgment.

How he could think clearly enough to even make the decision to remove as much gear as possible to lighten the FRED, I didn't know. It was a smart move, stashing the discarded equipment safely in the rocks wrapped in our last tarp. And I felt vaguely like a coward, letting this nearly out-on-his-feet young man shoulder the heavy duties and responsibilities of our group. He had made a good decision to take the barest of medical supplies into the canyon, those supplies now gone, taken by the water. If not for him we could have lost all of the medical supplies we had stripped from our main encampment, and the Colonel was going to need them. That man hadn't twitched a muscle.

If he had, Eric would have been at his side in a shot. No one could miss his frequent glances at Capt. Everett, Marie. Titles seemed so needless now; respect existed between us all, Eric was clearly our leader and we his followers. And as a good follower, Marie checked over the colonel as thoroughly as possible while setting up the portable IV. But I did see Eric wince when she slid the needle into a pale, bruise-mottled exposed arm of the one he considered leader.

Even after Lt. Van Sickle's return and assumption of the mantle of command, worry still wore at me. Eric was tired, O'Neill seemed badly injured and had yet to awaken, camp was at least a day away, and the Gate might still be useless. Was either of them capable of dealing with any of the problems that were plaguing our mission? Did I have a right to just let them try?

My watch told me that the sun had been up for nearly two hours. Two hours. This whole life and death drama felt like two very hard endless days. Just getting everything ready to leave had taken less than an hour. That sent a shiver up my spine. Eric had confided to me he intended to get back today, I knew it was very possible, but it was going to be difficult on everyone.

It was only the work of moments to get O'Neill secured to the FRED and I noticed that there was plenty of space for passengers. I hadn't been entirely fooled by his ploy to get me off my feet during the journey here, only my pride prevented me from noticing and it would have forced me to walk the whole way too. Eric recognized that I would have been useless if I had, Marie and he could do the distance. I couldn't. And he planned on doing the same on the return trip, when it should be he that rode, resting for when he would be needed again, at camp.

The downgrade was steep and rocky, the FRED lurched violently, the man in the Stokes showed every movement in a grimace or blanching of his face. The worst jolts punctuated with soft cries of pain. He was unconscious and still he reacted to the movement. Driving was my task; Marie could, but would have been thrown off eventually, for she could only depend on one arm for support. The blocky rocks slid under the tires and I was forced to hop on and off constantly, I knew that this was going too slowly and I knew why. Only how do I fix it? My opportunity came after I had slipped back on board, looked at O'Neill out of habit, and was startled to see his eyes were open.

"Colonel O'Neill, I don't know if you recall me..."

"Geologist, Ellis, Montgomery, Captain," hissed between clenched teeth as the FRED bottomed out against the non-trail, eyes snapping shut for a moment.

"Well I guess you do, not that it surprises me. But did you know that Lt. Van Sickle is out there killing himself because of you?"

Despite what must have been painful brightness to those newly open brown eyes, they widened in surprise at my words. They quickly darkened to black coals and narrowed as if trying to see at a great distance. And suddenly shifted away.

"What?" He tried to lift his head, which I promptly prevented, wagging a finger at him.

"He sees the pain of every jar you take, he's personally removing obstacles from the path of the FRED." I could feel his attempt to lever himself up enough to see for himself, I firmly held him down, too easy a task. This was making navigating the slope difficult and I wandered from my intended path.

"What!" O'Neill grunted out just as his eyes slammed down against more pain as we humped over another rock.

"Yes, he is. He's tired Sir. He hasn't slept, he pushed himself hard getting here and he's pushing harder getting back." I held the FRED's control box up for him to see as I gently pushed the tiny joystick into a slow quarter circle, successfully avoiding the next unstable rock.

"But..."

My god, the man looked puzzled, did he not think the kid wouldn't go to such trouble for him? Maybe it just never occurred to him, for such an intelligent man he seemed rather dense at the moment. Knowing so little of him, he may have very good reasons for this denseness, or maybe it's an effect of his injuries? No matter, this needed to be resolved.

"There is only one solution, I know you have an aversion to it and I don't pretend to know the reasons, but I know what will happen if this keeps up. Lt. Van Sickle will get hurt or worse. Only you can fix this. If you weren't of such vaulted rank I wouldn't hesitate, even if the boy refused to speak to me as long as I lived. However, I will not embarrass him, he is in charge and he respects your refusal and is doing the only thing left to him. And it's your fault, Sir."

Having kept my eyes on my task, picking the FRED's path carefully, I now risked a glance. He was looking inward, eyes fixed on feet he could not see, as if the outside world did not exist. Mere moments later his eyes locked with mine, the command unspoken, I slowed and stopped our descent; he spoke.

"Get 'em."

Nodding my reply, I felt sick, I had just bullied an injured man into something he really didn't want to do. His eyes had held the same determination that Eric's had when he clung to the Stokes by nothing more than his fickle fingers, remaining there by will alone. But what else could I do?

Bringing the FRED to a stop did not immediately bring Eric running, he was down slope, back bent, straining to shift a large stone, almost a boulder, I did not think that two men could have budged it. But this young man has recently learned that things don't get done unless one tries and he tries mightily. I felt a misplaced pride in him, misplaced because I had nothing to do with this new attitude, the man next to me did.

Slipping from my perch I awkwardly knelt and picked up a few pebbles. Tossing one in the lieutenant's direction, I popped it off the sole object in his current universe. He exploded upward and nearly fell on his butt as his feet slipped in the grit dusted across the hard rock trail. Lifting a hand to shade his eye, I could mentally see the squint as he wondered what the hell prompted the pebble. I waved at him to come. He dropped his gaze to the ground and started the tricky task of trudging back the thirty steep feet to me. I watched him during his approach; occasionally he would raise his head and look at me with a question writ across his grimy sweaty face. He should have been excited, he should have flown up that trail, but he had no energy, he was close to collapse.

And this is why we were booted from the military; we were now unable to go the distance. Even if we were never intended to need it while here, it seemed that this endurance was still needed, if lacked. If we had but one able-bodied person along, we would not be in this predicament. All of us, except O'Neill, were uninjured, but possessed a disability that prevented the kind of endurance needed for this kind of mission. My report would reflect that even at a 'safe' base that there should be a certain percentage of able-bodied personnel for emergencies.

When Van Sickle was mere feet away I indicated the Colonel, who lay quietly, unmoving or unable to move, his eyes so hooded they were black and glittered unhealthily. Yet, when those eyes beheld my tired commander, the boy leader, they softened as I had noted they tended to do, his whole body seemed to relax, shifting the pain elsewhere. Only for a moment, then the dark coals returned and the body stiffened as Eric smiled and leaned over him.

"Morphine," croaked from the blistered lips.

Still it was a fierce demand none could mistake. If he could have moved he would have trust forth an arm, baring the skin, ready for the needle he so dreaded. Raw courage. Duty.

Eric's face showed a shock that even the flush of exertion and dirt could not disguise, it did not slow his mind for his next words were to me.

"Captain Everett, could we have some privacy please?" I nodded and moved off, out of earshot, but not sight.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Pain hit in waves, interwoven with troughs of numbness. Eliciting coherent thought was damned near impossible. But I had to, needed to. Eric was in a bad way and my delicate sensibilities were making his situation worse.

Fraiser was gonna kick my ass, but good, for letting this happen, I'd promised to keep the kid safe, quiet, let him rest and recover. So here he was pulling my nuts outta the fire, pushing himself too hard, all because of my own stupid little emotional needs, getting him to like me, including him, appearing to give him the support he craved. And look what it's gotten him. He's about to drop in his tracks.

My dramatic outburst spent my reserves; my demand for that hated drug is now the only thing keeping me from slipping back into the dark. A dark filled with flares of blinding pain. Something was wrong. I've been hurt enough to know that. Hurts worse than that blotched HALO jump and the nine days it took to crawl away from the landing.

The pain I could live with, it was the lack of it that scared me. It seemed to be spreading slowing from my back outwards, shot though with a case of pins-and-needles like nothing I'd ever felt, worse then those that I'd had when thawing out from Antarctica. That cold still lived in my bones and was greeting the new chill that followed my rapidly expanding problem as a long lost lover, as if my very blood had stopped and was cooling in place.

Try as I might, nothing worked. No wiggling toes, wagging fingers -- damn -- I couldn't even lift my own head to look around. I had to convince the kid of what I wanted him to do. I would not have _him_ paying the price that only I should be paying. I wasn't stupid, no matter what I try to convince people of, I may never move again, I knew about back injuries. I was unmoving meat now. But the kid still had a chance at a future and that I would protect if possible. He was still my responsibility and that I would not shirk.

We stared at each other as Captain Everett moved away, Everett was a good man, one I would have to speak to, he was not happy at telling me what he had and may harbor the idea that had strong-armed me. Fat chance of that.

"Sir... Jack... ?"

My friend, Lt. Eric Van Sickle, the person I seemed to be destroying by just laying here, was puzzled. He's smart he'll soon figure it out, and then leave; that would be for the best. Being around me has never long been healthy for anyone.

"Morphine," my stubbornness was my only ally in protecting him; I refused to fail in that role again.

"But... ?"

"Please."

Even as dull as my brain was, his reaction was slow, proof of his fatigue, but that stubborn mask finally slipped into place, I remember when Charlie... -- swallow -- ...when Charlie did that. This would be a battle of wills, one I had to win and lose at the same time.

"Why now?"

His face flitted from concern to anger over that background of stubborn as he ground that question out. Yep, seen that before. Only the truth would work now.

"You tell me."

'Coward,' echoed across the morass under my mental feet. 'Tactical 101,' whispered and ghosted in swirls though it. Something inside me never made living with me easy, possessed of a perverseness that forced me to make others reach for what I could easily tell them. Back in a time when I could have been described as innocent, near the dawn of another era, I was told I was a frustrated natural teacher. I know now that no one should ever learn what I know.

"You're in pain."

"And..." Come on kid; tell me something I don't know.

"What did Monty say to you?"

"_And..._ " Dramatically I rolled my eyes to hide the laboring of my lungs from the force I placed behind that repeated word.

"Damn it Jack, I'm tired..."

"Exactly." Yes, you are, that's the whole point of this exercise.

"What's that mean?"

"You tell me." Use that brilliant brain of yours; out do this old soldier.

"We're just running in circles here."

"Exactly." You're a good kid. Two for two. You're doing too much shitting around here; ya gotta go.

"Fuck! There's no time for this!"

"Exactly." Damn, he's so close to seeing it. One more little leap of logic.

"And you're gonna say 'You tell me,' again aren't you."

I nodded. The cogs were moving.

"You want me to reason this out?"

I nodded again and watched from under half mast eyelids, holding them up was becoming difficult, I was cold.

"You're in pain," he ticked off a finger, "I'm tired, running in circles," two more fingers, "and no time," dropped yet another.

"Morphine," I uttered quietly from behind my traitorously lidded eyes.

"And Morphine..."

In my mind I saw yet another finger ticked off.

"But, it's not the same as the rest..."

"Solution."

His sudden intake of breath was my answer, seeing his face wasn't necessary, even if I could open my eyes. Warm fingers against my cheek caused me to flinch violently.

"But..." Now was the time for the truth.

"I can't _be_ hurt anymore." And, that hurt, as the truth always does, hurting me, and I knew it was hurting him, probably worse than me. "Not your fault."

"Are you sure?"

Concern was slathered thickly across his words, disguising their meaning. He needed a spur and now was the time.

"Get to the Gate, Lieutenant," putting as much command voice as I could into the words, biting them out. And like the coward I knew I could be, I slipped into the waiting darkness.

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

What was said I guess I'll never know. O'Neill seemed the type that would die before he ever revealed a word, and Eric was fast learning that tactic too. Guessing was the only thing I could do.

Eric turned from O'Neill, his face like stone, beckoning to Captain Everett. When Maria arrived he asked her to inject the colonel with a dose of morphine and apologized for the fact that he didn't know how. Of course after that exchange, guessing really wasn't necessary. The colonel had remedied the problem, at his own personal expense. I hope the bill is not beyond his ability to pay or Eric's to survive. However, I can't imagine the man giving our young lieutenant any maneuvering room to assume any blame.

Once the drug had O'Neill firmly in its grip, Eric ruthlessly took to the trail, still careful of our cargo, but not as before. No longer did he stop to remove all obstacles. But when he did, his anger fueled his strength, but anger is fleeting and burns out quickly, as did his strength. He conceded his condition by hitching a ride on the FRED, but not for long, insisting that Marie trade off with him. She and I both took to using strategies to force him back to riding as soon as opportunity allowed. He stayed longer and longer each time.

We were more than half way, traversing a stretch of open level plateau; it was here that he finally succumbed to the needs of his own body. Stretched out alongside the Stokes, face buried it its side he fell asleep. One had to admire his ability to do that, as comfort was not something his position offered, but his body took what it could get. He was safe enough that way on this leg of the journey, in an hour we would begin the gentle decent into the broad shallow valley that contained the deepest of the streams that emptied into the creek canyon. Watchful of our path, I intended on keeping him asleep as long as I could. The stream ahead had been a difficult crossing the first time, and I expected no less this time.

Marie was walking ahead of the FRED, watching for problems and it was her yelp that awoke our young commander. She had slipped on the trail and slid upright for a few feet. Her balance was phenomenal, considering her inability to control one arm to advantage. She burst out laughing in relief, as did I. Dropping my head to stifle my mirth with a free hand I automatically swept my gaze across the two bodies in my care, one of them looked back at me.

"Sir, Ah... Eric... Feeling better?"

"Ah... Mmmm, kinda. What happened?"

"Marie is auditioning for the circus," I pantomimed a skating figure with my hands. He smiled shyly then frowned, dropping his eyes to the man between us.

"The Colonel... ?"

"Still out like a light. I've been keeping an eye on him. He seems better. Relieving the pain has to be helping. Don't you think?"

He snaked a hand over the edge of the Stokes to check the pulse in the man's neck, tested the temperature of his face and rested his spread hand on his chest, feeling it's movement. All the while still stretched out alongside the Colonel, but hitched up onto his side and leaning into the metal basket, using it as an anchor for his physical body as his hand upon O'Neill was his emotional one.

"Where... ?"

"Look, there's your answer," pointing down the gentle grassy slope to the slow ribbon of brush guarded water, unmistakable as our next obstacle. Beyond this only a few small streams, hardly chuckholes in our road, stood before the overgrown rubble ramp down from the plateau to our tunnel camp. After all we had cut the trail coming out and left it in a condition to return.

" 'member this one, we almost lost the FRED," he muttered almost to himself; as he sat and buried his face into his hands, dry washing it.

He must have been remembering the field of boulders just under the surface, like overrun stepping-stones. One tire had slipped off, not far luckily, he and I both used a sturdy branch lever to hold it while Marie inched it forward, then we heaved it up to the next stone. We had to be careful as the far wheel clung to another boulder precariously, it too could slip off, leaving the vehicle balanced on its undercarriage, wheels dangling. That would have been the end of our rescue mission, then and there.

"I want to scout out that field of boulders before we try it again."

He leaned against his now drawn up knees, one hand anchoring him to the Stokes as he stared off towards the stream, lurching gently with the motion of the FRED, every line of him screamed thoughtful and exhausted.

"A sound idea," I agreed, and it was, it had been a near thing.

The lieutenant stayed with the FRED, riding, until I stopped just outside the brush that fenced the stream, yet another testament to his fatigue.

Maria was hunting up and down the barrier, no doubt looking for plants as she had all the way. She came up to me when Eric slid off to check the status of the stream.

"How is he," she asked as she lay the back of a hand against the Colonel's cheek, she appeared satisfied with what she felt.

"He seems better, his breathing is more regular and he seems to have relaxed."

"That's good. He'll need another shot soon. Perhaps after we cross? How's the lieutenant?"

Her eyes sought out his form as he waded among the barely seen boulders like Poseidon bent on vengeance. Her face held something, something that told me she might just think of him as more than just 'the lieutenant.' Her attention returned to the Colonel, before rummaging among the medical supplies secured within the Stokes alongside the man's body, the only safe space available.

"He's exhausted," her eyes fastened on Van Sickle's distant figure, at how he further exhausted himself, her frown perhaps hinting of her disapproval of his exertions. "You're no better," she added, shifting her gaze to me and narrowing her eyes.

"As are you I expect," I steadily stared back at her and dared her to deny it.

"Maybe, but I didn't get up every hour on the hour, like an expectant father waiting for his son to get back from his first date either." Her face smoothed and a grin blossomed across it and I knew that I had been found out.

"That bad was I?"

Nodding, her attention now elsewhere, she muttered, "Last one," while hanging a clear bag of fluid on the portable IV pole. "We need to get to camp soon. He needs to get to the SGC even sooner I'm afraid." Her worry and fear leaked into her words, I felt defeated and expressed that to her.

"Do you think that it will matter?"

"I'm no doctor and this is a complicated injury, and you know just as much as I do. What do you think?" Her voice was defiant. Was she angry at O'Neill's dire condition, or, that I sounded as if hope was already gone?

"I really don't want to contemplate that, just one too many things for me to handle. SG-1 is supposed to be charmed, but O'Neill is without his team."

"This frightens me, he's stood between us and disaster more than once, now he'll never stand again. What will become of Earth now?" Marie's eyes held a deep anguish, an anguish I wished I could ease, but I felt it too. If I thought about this much more I knew I would find that hope was really gone. Maybe Earth's hope as well.

"I'm part of the military, but even I know many of the smart ones leave, or are forced to leave, as Eric will be forced out eventually." My statement seemed to catch her off guard. Had she not thought about this? Surely she knew this.

"We have to stop tossing out the smart ones, no matter how badly disabled they are. I wonder who's behind this project. He should get a medal or something," she stated vehemently, as her fingers brushed back some errant hair across the Colonel's forehead, like she was making him presentable.

"Didn't you know? You have your hands on the culprit right now."

"He did? He's so much more than he appears," giving me an incredulous look.

"That's why I really don't want to think about just how badly he's injured. We lose him and we lose so much. Even Lt. Van Sickle will be lost to us, to Earth and to himself. I don't want to see Eric become an embittered pensioner and I certainly don't want to see Colonel O'Neill become a cripple. A man like him will refuse to be that; he'll give up, or end it. Either way we lose another brilliant mind. It's too ugly to contemplate." I shudder at the words I'd just said, seeing those children that visit my home from time to time, such a coward to not try to remedy their plight. Maybe...

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Gone. All of it was gone, it was never there, and I knew this. But it felt so real?

Gentle rocking, memories of our child in my arms, of a pride and a boundless joy.

Such warmth by my side, an innocence that I could never mar and would kill to protect.

Warm exhalations, trust. Charlie.

Gone. No rocking, no breaths, no body beside me. Cold.

My soul wept at the loss. All I possessed was an empty feeling, sucking my heart into a whirlpool of numbness below my lungs.

Charlie!

Fleeting touches on my face and a warmth on my chest. But too soon gone. Charlie?

NO! It's the drug. Concentrate. If I'm not careful I'll lose my place in time. Think!

Tugging pain at my arm. Remember. I.V.?

Pain, a tried and trusted anchor. The whirlpool ate at it and I lost my tenuous hold on my questionable reason, slipping back into the dark.

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

NO!

Running full out, my momentum pushed up a spray as I hit the stream. The deepening water slowed me, as had my clumsy trip over the sizable limb I had been dragging to the water in preparation of the next section of the crossing. The FRED was just past the mid point, above the deepest of the water when it tilted alarmingly.

Damn it, a wheel must have slipped. But Eric, where was he?

Marie was running towards me, from the opposite bank, I must have shouted. I had to have shouted out.

The Stokes wasn't centered on our transport as before, if it slipped off... O'Neill would drown. He was helpless.

The water was just below my lower ribs, it was chill and swift, and footing was difficult on stream's slippery bed. Pushing both arms out, I lunged for the now slipping Stokes. God, O'Neill was awake and looked to be struggling, eyes frantic, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Go. Go. Go. Forget me! Go."

His words rang in my ears as I cast a few loops from the loose rope ends around the edge of the basket and tied them to the upper edge of the FRED. Capt. Everett arrived to relieve me of that task. Swinging around I saw the lieutenant clinging to a boulder 40 feet downstream, just in time to see him lose his grip and be pulled under. O'Neill's screams were no more than grunts, too drugged for coherency; I tuned him out. Plunging into the water I swam, this was a risk in such boulder-riddled swift water, but I hoped that the hydraulics would suck me to the side before hitting any head on.

**General George Hammond**

There should have only been three people who knew about this; but I have all of SG-1, except for their missing teammate and all of SG-2 standing ready in the Gate Room. Unauthorized and unasked. How do you punish that kind of insubordination? Tradition dictates medals.

This is an occasion, Major Carter's newest UAV is poised to launch. Thank God, the little thing is constructed of off-the-shelf parts, her answer to the budgetary pressures the SGC must endure. The model plane would be at home any Sunday in any open field, a cheap, fuzzy digital camera and a short range sender shares half of its hollow body with the liquid fuel that will keep it airborne for a staggering four minutes before a one time data burst fries the sender. Then its small airframe will crash to the alien soil forgotten, so cheap that recovery isn't an option.

The loss and injury to UAV recovery teams forced this decision on us, I for one agreed with it. Lives don't come off shelves.

The little plane flies for the upper quadrant of the Gate, just scooting under the ring that could easily have shattered it into a million pieces. The young lieutenant at the radio controls is a bright red, but focused on his job as never before. For him it is now a task to complete perfectly, to make up for the shaky start. He's flying blind, his eyes closed in concentration, lips moving, counting off seconds as his hand slowly rotates the tiny stick on the control. Imagining the toy spiraling upward above an alien Gate he cannot see.

Silence rules here, not even the SF's restlessly shifting below can fill it. Only the sudden tapping of keys from Sgt. Davis' station let only the closest know that the data burst has happened. It's happened! Damn, there is hope!

As if on strings, those of us in the Control Room, close on the sergeant, I have the rank to allow clear sight of his workstation screen.

"Water!"

It's difficult to stifle the urge to slap a hand over my uncontrollable mouth. Carter is there in an instant slipping into the workstation on the sergeant's other side, perhaps left open for this very reason. Her key tapping is much faster, more frenzied and mayhap more productive.

"Sir."

"Yes," I croaked though my tightened throat.

"Both MALP's are underwater, the Gate is partially submerged. Sir, MALP's aren't built for that." Her smile is like sunshine after a storm. She sees hope.

A realization occurs, if the lieutenant handling the toy plane had control of it when it had gone though the Gate, we would never know this information and the whole mission would have been lost. O'Neill's luck again rears it's head. Just when you believe there is no recourse, something happens, but I also know that payback is just around the corner. And with Jack, it's never pretty.

Now that we know what's wrong, just what the Hell do we do about it?

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

It was gonna be a rough jump, the plane's lurching from side to side in short jerky chops. Crap, we have no business jumping under these conditions, but Special Forces go when and where needed. Difficulties are our stock in trade.

Been sleeping, but it's so rough, all I can do is doze.

'Teal'c pull up!' We slam though the blossom of flame, buffeted so badly I bang my head and gray out.

Cracking an eye, I slam it shut. Bright, way too bright to be that pesthole. Carefully I move my leg, the cuff and chain is gone. Okay, been there, done that. They must want to play. A shadow crosses over me and I slit my eyes just enough to see a very bright white blur. I feel a tug on my arm, a painful tug, and then a burning crawls up the vein. The world blurs and becomes black.

Awareness returns in a dim room. But the sounds, those I know. I spent way too long in a hospital after Iraq. Why am I here? The cause crashes in on me and I jerk upwards, ripping the IV from my arm, I stumble from the bed. Charlie and blood, so much blood, I trip, glancing my head off of the wall. I sink below the thick red cold blood that had been my son's.

Broad bands of padded leather, I feel them first and remember why they are there. Knocking myself unconscious was more than enough reason for them to truss me up like this. All the nurses are afraid of me, thinking me just an animal after Iraq. Who cares if tying me up is the last thing I want, after all, I've spent most of the last four months restrained in one way or another. What should it matter?

The first sight to greet me is the watery light are eyes, green eyes. Not quite a matched set. One flashes surprise as they drop from sight. I panic and throw up the sash, there below me is Charlie sprawled on the grass below. Not moving.

Charlie! I can't move!

A man is suddenly there, leaning over me, his hand on my chest, I plead with him.

"Go. Go. Go. Forget me! Go."

He's wet. Why is he wet? He's tying me down. I can't move?

I cry, scream and mumble my son's name, imploring this stranger to help him. He's too interested in the restraints. He pushes away and nods in satisfaction before leaving.

Someone else touches me, asking me to relax. With an effort I move. And in a flash of horrible pain I pass out.

**General George Hammond**

"I will go."

Burying my face in my hands I sigh loudly, usually I would never allow anyone to see my inner thoughts or emotions though my physical behavior, but I can't help it. This briefing has been long and arduous. And seemingly the stars on my shoulder mean little or nothing.

"Teal'c, I can't allow you to risk your life this way," said as I remove my hands from my face and raise them towards my current biggest problem.

My actions garner looks of sympathy from further down the table, and just a few glares, mostly from his teammates. They have no more patience, they want O'Neill back and they want him back now. Well, so do I, but I know that losing lives in the process would harm the Colonel more than he might already be harmed.

"Nevertheless, I will go."

Both Jackson and Major Carter, minutely nod their heads in agreement at that statement.

"Sir, with the proper equipment, it's not much of a risk," the blond astrophysicist blurts out.

My direct gaze reduces her to a bright red, and then Jackson speaks up.

"You see, General Hammond, we need to do something now, before the situation worsens. Before it's too late," he finishes, removing his fingers from the tabletop; he pushes his glasses further up. All during his words he had been using those fingers to tap out his points. My glare had no effect on him at all. All his thoughts were on his friend, Colonel O'Neill; Jack.

All of our thoughts were of him and the others on PBX 123, as are mine.

"And if something does go wrong, if Teal'c is lost? What do you propose to tell Colonel O'Neill then?"

My most vocal opponents looked stunned, none had thought of that. There is a reason I have these stars on my shoulders, I'm here to take into account every angle. And this angle would do more harm to Jack, even more than if we were to stand, and watch him bleed to death though our mutual inaction.

"Good. Teal'c I am willing to let you go under the condition that all precautions as taken. None of us here want to burden Colonel O'Neill unnecessarily. Do we?"

From the faces up and down the conference table, my point had been driven home. Haste makes waste. Jack would cringe at that, he really hates clichés. I've always wondered why, he uses enough of them himself.

Jack would much prefer us to move slow and careful. He already sees himself as a harbinger of death, so many have died around him; survivor guilt is a real problem for him. He doesn't need to have another name added to his list of deaths he believes he is personally responsible for, no matter how improbable that assumption can be. And I for one refuse to allow him any further chances to make such illogical leaps of guilt.

Standing I give my two-star stamp of approval.

"People, you have a go."

Go to: Chapter Fourteen


	14. Chapter 14

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

Boulders shot by at an alarming rate and I needed to slow down or I'd never be able to stop. Switching from swimming to defensive drifting I pushed my feet and legs out before me. Using them to fend off the rocks during my journey to cover those 40 feet to where Lt. Van Sickle had been sucked under. As I came up on it, I reached out with both arms and attempted to claw a handhold onto that offending obstacle. My hands connected, but I could not slow myself as nails dug painfully into the unyielding slippery stone. The water sucked at my legs and pulled me into the small pocket of quiet water downstream of the boulder, twisted me around twice and spat me back out into the current, crashing me harshly off of yet another boulder. Recovering from what was sure to be a bruised shoulder, I shied away from the other rocks, unwilling to take another hit, time was running out and the distance was dwindling. There should be less than 600 feet of stream before it plunges over the cliff into the creek canyon, a free fall of close to 80 feet onto a bed of boulders the size of office desks.

Bouncing off the rocky bottom of the stream happened more often now, as it shoaled rapidly, signaling the approach of the jump off. The water would become shallower and speed up for that final leap. Sitting in the cushion of moving water I knew that the lieutenant had to find a purchase or be swept over the edge, or he already had. The water may be only four or five inches deep there, but if he were completely down it would just roll him over the edge. Just as it would me if I didn't gain some control soon.

Now, I had to think about my own survival, and ahead of me was salvation, a close group of boulders, providing a welcoming slack water haven. Awkwardly crabbing across the current, using hands and feet, I succeeded in getting sucked behind them and pulled my body upright. Draping myself across my rocky crutch I surveyed the field of partially submerged boulders, each progressively higher above the surface of the water the closer they were to the cliff edge, like a broken rank of troops emerging from a river crossing, making seeing difficult around their rocky shoulders. There... too near the edge, I could see him, clinging onto a rock that acted like it was a greased pole. Careful to keep my feet and advantage, I worked my way to him. Bracing myself against his rock I offered him a hand.

"Need a hand, sir?"

He had been so busy, preventing himself from slipping over the edge he hadn't noticed my arrival and flinching badly, a leg slipped over the edge, but was quickly drawn back. He looked up at me and grinned hugely, not fazed in the least by his proximity to the edge.

"Oh, yes, so don't want to go flying here."

He glanced down at that remark, as did I. It was a dizzying sight; the edge overhung the floor of the canyon here and straight down was the apex of a pile of round-shouldered lozenge shaped boulders. A log had broken its back upon the topmost one.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

Seeing that broken log, I felt overwhelmed that Captain Ellis had risked his butt to save my worthless ass. Seeing myself broken below was too easy and way too close to reality. Yet, he had risked the same fate coming after me and I shivered at the thought of being so close to another failure. My failure to protect my people, or even myself.

From the look on his face, and the painful grip he had on my arm, I'd scared him. Well, I scared me too. And...

Crap. Jack. His eyes were open when I fell. He saw me go down. Damn. The man must be frantic with worry.

Reaching around, I gripped Monty's wrist where he gripped my upper arm, bringing his eyes up from our nearly shared fate to me.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

His answer was a tug on my arm to help me stand and pivot me around, and then he swung an arm around my waist to steady me.

"Didn't even get wet," he pointed upstream towards the FRED. Captain Marie Everett stood close to its canted shape, close in behind a supporting boulder, lessening the force of the water against her smaller frame. He pulled at my hip, directing me towards a group of boulders, towards the bank, out of the current, to safer ground. I was all for that.

PBX 123 was a warm planet, but this stream was cold and I shivered a bit. My eyes felt heavy, each footstep was like moving though newly poured concrete, and suddenly I was grateful for Monty's limping steadiness as I wavered across the slippery stream bottom. We both collapsed onto the small sand edge, free of vegetation, breathing heavily. Lifting and turning my head to glance upstream I saw Marie working her way across the turbulent current towards us, the sand against my face was warm. But her approach concerned me and I made to rise, even against Monty's restraining hand, firmly knotted into the fabric of my shirt, his attempt to keep me down, and resting no doubt. Only Marie's wave down curbed me, allowing me to give in to the fatigue I was now finding hard to ignore. Guilt flushed though me as the heat of the sand chased away the water's chill. My friend lay alone in the center of all that cold water as I enjoyed safety and succor.

That thought stirred me and I sat up despite Monty's attempts to prevent it, sitting I could better see the MALP, but refused to look at the source of my uneasiness. Instead I supported my head on my crossed arms, resting them on my drawn up knees, and waited, contemplating my current weakness. A touch on my shoulder alerted me to the fact that my eye had been closed for some reason. My guilt built once more as I realized that I had drifted off, if only for mere seconds. The first thing I saw upon opening my eye were two ridiculously small boots in the sand before me.

"Eric..."

"Why are you here instead of... out there?" I blindly waved a freed arm back in the direction she had come from, trying desperately to curb my anger, she wasn't to blame, nor did she deserve my childish behavior. Only I was to blame, I should be angry with me. And maybe I was?

"Simple, the FRED isn't going anywhere until we want it too."

Now that got my attention, not just her smartass tone, unheard of from mild Marie. But when I brought my one and only useful eye about my forearm and squinted at her, she sported a huge smirk. Wondering just what all the superior attitude was about I give her a less than intelligent reply. "Huh?"

"The wheel slipped, yes. But it slipped down onto another boulder. The wheel is a bit wedged, but not badly, so it's safe for the moment." She bounced once up onto the tiny toes of her boots, shrugged her shoulders with hands clasped before her. Looking like any woman that had outdone all the men in sight. Smug failed to describe it.

"The Stokes started to shift when the FRED slipped, is the Colonel alright? He... he saw me fall."

I really hadn't meant to wipe out that look and force concern onto her face, but I wasn't able to actually outthink my guilt, I was too tired.

"That explains his agitation."

"Agitation! Are you..."

Leaning forward, she placed a hand to my shoulder preventing any further movement without toppling her.

"Yes, I'm sure. I told him that everything was fine. You were fine. That I could see you. He probably won't even remember it. Relax."

"If he's upset... shouldn't someone be with him?"

Stinging from what felt like a scolding, feeling much like a kindergartner that was very much in need of a nap, I exemplified petulant.

"Eric, he's fine. It was time for the next dose of morphine, so I gave it to him. He's asleep again. And the FRED isn't going anywhere until you two can lever that wheel up a bit."

"And neither one of us is going to be able to accomplish that without a breather. Working against that water was hard, so take five... Sir!"

Monty grabbed my poor abused shirt and yanked me down onto my back, with a helpful shove from Marie. Tossing both hands into the air in a gesture of surrender I relaxed.

"Okay, five minutes, no more."

XXX

Two seconds later, I was being shaken, and shouted at.

"Five minutes, we _agreed_ -- five minutes!"

"Actually, it's been..." I could see Monty raise his arm to peer at his watch in my imagination. "One hour, and five minutes."

"I don't believe you." And with that I flipped away from him and borrowed into the warm sand, only to have someone tap on my cheek.

"Here, lunch." Marie. Yep, that was Marie's voice, and something was shoved under my nose, it smelled like ambrosia. But sleep was more appealing to me at the moment.

"Five minutes," I insisted.

"Don't think he's actually awake," Monty muttered.

"I agree, and so would the Colonel," retorted Marie, with a distinctly disapproving tone.

Colonel? Crap! I sprang upright, only to catch at my head as the world grayed out. A hand upon my arm steadied me.

"Hey, easy there Eric. No need to rush. Open those pretty green eyes and look." And I did, though it did take me a few moments to figure out where I was to look. I panicked a bit when the FRED failed to resolve in its place in the center of the stream. That's when Monty gently pushed a hand in front my face and pointedly popped out his index finger, my eye looked along it. Oh, there's the FRED.

"But... you two, alone... got it out," my confusion and disbelief was evident to even my sleep depraved brain.

"Sir, I'll have you know that I've been a Captain for a few years now, and can, on occasion, think my way out of a few sticky situations," huffed Captain Montgomery Ellis. "Besides, even if Colonel O'Neill was perfectly safe out there, we didn't like him being alone anymore than you did," he finished in a quieter voice.

"I felt the same," piped up Captain Marie Everett, "and Monty, being as smart as he is, will take direction from other, smarter captains, such as I." Smiled the ever-proud tiny -- in stature -- half of the present brain trust, "Besides, he had been dragging around the solution even before your swim." She pointed to a discarded stout, long branch, still damp, lying on the sand not far away.

"Are you going to say something Eric?" inquired Monty, nudging the MRE in the sand before me, setting my mouth to watering.

I shook my head in the negative.

"He IS smart," smirked Marie. "And just to keep you up to date, the Colonel's fine. No improvement, but no degradation in his condition as far as we can tell, either."

"But, we still need to get him home and you're the last item to pack," added Monty as he reached a hand down to me.

Quickly I met it, curling my good hand around his wrist and he gripped mine, and with a tug I was upright. Before me stood two people, who were becoming more than subordinates or teammates, but friends. Still it felt very strange to have these older, more experienced, ranking officers defer willingly to me. Strange wasn't all I felt. I really had no name for it, but I felt protected, wanted and needed by them. And that thought brought me back to Colonel O'Neill. He needed protection more than I, and was wanted, and needed by me.

With the turn in my thoughts I found myself standing over the man in question, he face slack in his drugged sleep. Little tremors moved along his legs and arms from time to time, as if he dreamed horrific dreams and his body's defenses were preventing him from physically escaping them. My maimed hand snuck under the loose edge of the silver thermal sheet, finding and squeezing his hand. Warmth, my two taped fingers registered it. But my mind took longer to note that I hadn't felt that sensation since the explosion, only phantom heat of the searing kind, until now. Just by his presence he was healing all that he imagined he had wrought.

So engrossed in this revelation was I that I never felt the hands urging me to sit on the FRED, or when it lurched into motion. I snugged up to the Stokes and its precious life, lost in studying his features, waiting, thankfully, in vain for the signs of discomfort. Unconsciously I must have felt the leveling out of our path, looking around I saw the bare grassy upland that would soon lead to another, much smaller, dry stream course. I knew that the gate wasn't far. Turning my face to the sky, I sought out the alien star that shone there. The tawny green of the sky had somehow become familiar. Welcome. I breathed in the air, scenting the breeze. When had this place become home?

**Lt. Dennis Wong**

As I had promised our young leader, I had kept watch on the one person who was a threat to his authority, and that of his foster-sire. She had been no problem as the others, much to my surprise, had taken up the same task, unspoken and unasked, each on their own. Over the few days of Lt. Van Sickle's absence, cohesion had occurred. 'His people' against her. She had few adherents to her opine that she should be in charge. Our time fell into an uneasy routine, continuing the tasks that had been mapped out by our missing leaders.

Dr Brent was the first to see our wandering teammates. Or, I should say 'hear.'

As was his wont, he was out on the knoll preparing, uncovering equipment and devising his exploration for the night. When he heard the distinctive sounds of the FRED, far, than near; he deduced correctly that the lieutenant was on the rubble ramp, descending. Brent called us on his radio and alerted us. So most everyone was there, on the knoll, when in the failing light the bedraggled group arrived. We were most tactile in our greetings, as would any pack upon the return of their Alphas.

Pleasure abounded that they had found our missing colonel, but not as I, or anyone would have preferred. Our little band of rescuers was exhausted, but most especially our commander, his occasional stagger proof of his condition. Immediately I attached myself to young Eric, but he just as swiftly pushed me toward the colonel, knowing I had the most medic training of the entire group. One had to know these things when in the middle of nowhere and my heritage demanded it, the Wongs had a proud and long history of Chinese herbalists and healers behind them. Checking the man I insisted that the lieutenant ride the FRED down to the tunnel entrances with the excuse that I needed information, which I received in plenitude. None of it sounded at all good, but I knew that only a doctor could tell for sure. This kind of injury was beyond my experience and expertise. I knew just enough to know such injuries were difficult to judge and hard to diagnose, he must be gotten to the SGC. I suspected that all was not as lost as it appeared with our good colonel.

In our exploration of the tunnels we learned more of the subtle systems that maintained its habitability. Warm air was utilized in keeping the levels as comfortable as possible, but there needed to be a large population to bleed the warmth from, only those first rooms to be serviced by the warming shafts seemed to get any at present. And it was to the warmest that I had already prepared to take the whole expedition. Medical supplies, food and bedding had been placed in anticipation of their return, an effort of unspoken alliance by all but Major Drake, who happily worked diligently on the task so forcefully given her by Lt. Van Sickle before he left.

There were many willing hands to do the work that needed to be done, Captains Everett and Ellis were diverted, fed and urged to rest within the chamber, while I and Captain Iron Horse dealt with the Colonel.

Eric sat slumped against the wall, a mug of hot broth clenched between his cold hands. Dr. Brent had taken my first intended place as his keeper and badgered him gently into imbibing of the warm nourishment.

The Colonel had been infused with four bags of fluid during his sojourn, yet his dehydration was advanced. Our supplies only contained another four bags and I intended to run two drips and force as much into him as possible using conventional methods. Giving O'Neill's body as much support as possible, giving him a fighting chance to heal himself, that was the best that could be done under the circumstances. All of us who had remained behind knew that Major Drake had not yet discovered a way to clear the Gate Canyon of the ocean it currently contained.

Lt. Van Sickle had sent word for Major Drake to report as soon as he arrived, but she has not shown herself. I did not really expect her to. While surveying the colonel I watched the lieutenant lose his battle to stay alert. Dr. Brent gently eased the already asleep young man down to the floor conveniently padded with blankets. He may be rather absent minded, but I think that is an act, because he masterfully steered our tired leader to his sleeping pallet with ease. I smiled my thanks as he grinned back at me after covering the boy with a blanket and from his stance he would remain to watch over him, leaving me free to examine my patient more thoroughly.

Both drips were installed and Tina Iron Horse was slipping water into O'Neill as swiftly as possible. The reflective thermal sheet was gone, as was the blanket that had covered him. And all the supplies packed around him were now stored with the other medical supplies. I reached down and methodically released all the straps that had held him safe. He was clothed in full BDU's and boots, all covered in sand, and both still quite damp. The possibility of the man chilling was high, but I was thankful that I had placed him nearest the warming vent, but not directly in its air flow, I would allow his clothes to dry as much as possible without allowing him to cool. Removing them was far too risky, further injury to his back would be a certainty.

Since hearing of his complaint of back pain and his inability to move his arms, moving him around for a complete survey was something I would not do. But there was much I could do. I needed to check his circulation into and out of those sturdy boots he wore and I could not remove. Using scissors I slit along his bloused trousers, using my fingers as a gage of the temperature of his skin, he felt warm, but not too warm, a good sign. Shinning a flashlight into the slit I visually checked the skin tone. Not too bad, pale and somewhat bruised at the top of the boot, where they had dug into his leg. Normal. Slipping my fingers to the inside of his ankle I felt the pulse there, repeating with the other leg, I found no difference. Both were strong and steady.

Not wishing to totally ruin any insulating value of the Colonel's clothing I moved to his waist and carefully removed his belt, a long task, one-handed. Then unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. Slipping my hand inside I pushed my fingers down until I felt his penis; I was searching for his femoral artery. In my blind, near grope, the organ reacted slightly to my unintentional nudge. This would not be a pleasant experience if the man had been awake, it is, after all a 'very' private area that I was invading, but I had to know. While holding the outside of his thigh awkwardly with my handless right arm, assisted by a knee, I carefully pressed my fingers into the soft flesh of his inner leg to gauge the pulse there. Both were steady and even. The presence of his testicles told me he was warm enough, or they would have attempted to withdraw into his body to preserve their precious genetic material, in the warmth that could be had there. Even in the heat of this world, he could be chilled, his blood volume having been decreased via extensive bruising.

While I had his trousers undone, I pulled his t-shirt up, away from his stomach and felt around his waist and into the small of his back, shinning a light there and peering though the mesh of the Stokes when I could. It is times like this that I am thankful that I'm left handed, but it is also the time at which my unreasoning anger simmers in my soul. I knew I was dealing badly with the lost of my hand, having that hand now would be a help, allowing me to minister more properly to this man. A man who certainly deserved better than what I could offer. So negative have I become. Recognizing this fault, I felt I should follow Eric's example, an example prompted by this same man. I must persevere.

I visually checked all I could, or felt as far as was safe. The flashlight had revealed dark, deep ugly bruising along the small of his back disappearing down to his buttocks and up along his spine as far as I could see. It worried me to see such a deep bruise; it needed to be packed with ice, something I didn't have. I hoped that the slow seepage had stopped, preventing further spreading and thus increasing his blood loss.

He was covered in bruises, but there was one, scant millimeters above his left nipple that must have been painful when it occurred. It was sharp, narrow and well defined, almost a cut in nature. And a puzzle it was, it was at least a day or more older than the others. Having heard of how he was lifted from the canyon helped to explain the long burn like bruises across his chest and under his arms, and no doubt his back as well, very regrettable to have had to resort to such a method of transport with a back injury, one which had worsened it. It saddened me to think what guilt our young wolf would undergo when he had the time and energy to review his actions in saving the life, but not the function, of his adopted sire. And knowing the sire, there too guilt would reside. I shook my head at the unhappiness that would exist in the future as I arranged the Colonel's clothing into a more seeming presentation.

O'Neill's exposed skin was red and raw; to this I applied an antiseptic to clean the damaged skin before smoothing on an antibiotic cream to keep it from drying out. The long, strong fingers of each hand bore the marks of his struggle to survive in the flood; gently I cleaned and anointed them. My grandfather would have declared them the hands of a great man, a leader; even the many times broken thumbs did not detract from their masculine beauty. I had watched those hands mesmerized, he used them to good effect to distract from his eyes, the one place his true self would sometimes shine from.

Captain Everett told me when he had last been injected with morphine. He would not awake for another two or three hours, if that soon. Then I would attempt to assess his condition closer with his help. He would know what and how much pain he was in. I could only guess from the range of injuries. Now all I could do is keep him warm, quiet and give him fluids. And with that in mind I took over the task of feeding him warm broth and allowing Iron Horse to escape from the sudden quiet here. All were asleep or watching others sleep. The watchers would soon filter away, back to their tasks, knowing this would be the best thing they could do for the lieutenant and colonel.

Now it was a waiting game.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Ghosting around my feet and ankles, questing touches, moving upwards.

Keeping my eyes shut, I feigned sleep. Sometimes... sometimes, they would just go away, to visit yet another prisoner, like me, but someone more awake and aware. Someone they could torment, rarely did they want to do more.

In the dark I breathed shallowly and prayed they'd leave me alone, and if they didn't, that they only wanted to torment. God, I never wanted to experience that again. How could I have reacted that way? How could I have felt pleasure from such humiliation?

A tug at my waist nearly broke me. I learned not to tie the knot to slow them down or stop them. Dealing with the knife they'd use and the extra bodies who wanted to play wasn't worth it. My defiance had been an open invitation to go beyond torment. I was defiant no more.

A hand groped between my legs. What was he doing? Counting? Searching like I had more or less than they? When it withdrew, I almost stopped breathing in relief, almost giving myself away and nearly died of fright when the hand returned. Along my ribs, under me to my back and butt, and... back to my chest?

None of them had ever rearranged the rags I wore to cover me. Never.

Fingers over my face, then each hand was picked up and caressed. I felt ashamed when it felt good, those fingers, soothed and calmed. This was the enemy!

Then... then, they were gone. No more touching,

I breathed as if asleep for a long time. They were gone. Carefully I rolled unto my side and clutched Charlie to my chest. They would never have him; I would protect him with my last breath.

Cradling the anchor of my sanity, I slept in that place that light never penetrated.

**Major Sam Carter**

"Teal'c, are you sure you can do this?"

General Hammond's question about what we would say to the Colonel if Teal'c were killed doing this rescue haunted me. And I knew just how badly the Colonel would take his friend's death, laying claim to all of the blame, as would Daniel for backing me up on this. The really painful part would be my absolution of responsibility in the orchestration of Teal'c's death by the Colonel himself. Knowing full well that I pushed for this, he would never blame me.

"Certain."

Teal'c was supremely confident, but he was always like that. It was I, who really needed to be certain. With the Colonel off world I was in charge and I was not losing anyone even to my own plans, especially a plan that might hold just a bit too much of my emotional investment in it. We may have agreed to put all those feelings back into that room, but could either of us truly do that? Was I being analytical enough to keep SG-1 alive and well, and still retrieve the Colonel in a similar state?

"Are you really, really certain? I mean... what I said to General Hammond wasn't exactly a lie, but..."

"MajorCarter, O'Neill himself instructed me in traversing water."

"Ah, you do mean swimming. Don't you Teal'c?" Daniel piped up, but his face seemed to have a doubt written onto it. Maybe he was thinking of that makeshift sailboat Teal'c had cobbled together a couple of years ago, saving the Colonel's life.

"Yes, DanielJackson, that was part of his instruction."

"Part..."

"Yes, do you not recall 'seal week'? "

"Ah, well... yes, but I don't... remember, or know what it means," puzzlement plain on Daniel's face.

"Daniel, the Colonel was 'invited' to Seal Week by the current head instructor. He indicated that he received in invitation every year, and this year it corresponded with some mandatory leave. He said something about needing to take them down a peg, show them just how Air Force Special Forces handles things. Isn't that correct?" I asked, turning to Teal'c for confirmation.

"I cannot say."

His answer surprised me. Maybe he was protecting the Colonel's privacy?

"Or won't say?" Interjected Daniel, before I could shake loose of my surprise.

"I shall rephrase; I can NOT say," Teal'c inclined his head in mute apology.

"Oh, yes! That makes a whole world of difference. Sam, he cannot say. In my opinion that means 'he cannot say.' " Daniel was a little irked by the answer, sometimes he had no patience when it came to the Colonel's right to keep his private life from us, from him; and could be just a bit childish about it.

Knowing Teal'c, he would not say more, so... "Okay, I get it. What can you say?"

"I was instructed on the use of a rebreather, free diving, snorkeling and diving at depth with different mixtures of air. And then was rated by the Seal's system of expertise."

"And that rating would be... and please, do not say 'you cannot say," Daniel huffed; still perturbed at not knowing what the secrecy was all about.

"O'Neill called it 'instructor rating."

"Holy Hannah," I blurted out, adding a low whistle after it. Impressive, very impressive. And as far as I knew totally without precedence in any military advanced special forces training. From no inkling to expert in one week.

"That sounds... good," Daniel, stated with a questioning voice, he had to be uncertain what that meant, but my reaction told him that it wasn't normal.

"I fear I somehow failed O'Neill in this."

Teal'c hated to disappoint the Colonel and I couldn't imagine that being possible, never would he express such a feeling in a training situation. Only when one of us did something dumb in the heat of survival would he, could he, express that. Usually a near death experience on our part would prompt that reaction.

"Teal'c how can you say that? It's the top rating."

"It is not, I failed to achieve the top rating." Teal'c sounded embarrassed and sorrowful at this admission of failure to achieve a physical goal; this from a man who could fight rings around all of us, including the Colonel. He was a tower of strength and grace, bundled with a gentle soul and keen intellect.

"But..."

"O'Neill holds a 'master instructor rating.'

"I... I didn't know that. I didn't even know the rating existed," I stammered out, racking my brain for such a rating and finding none.

"If I must fail, it is good to fail to such a warrior as he. And I did not wish to take the title from him in so doing. But I tried at his urging."

"I don't understand? Take the 'title from him?' " Daniel exclaimed.

"O'Neill said only one man may hold this title at a time. DanielJackson, he denies being given it, but the Seal's there insisted he held it. I believe that is why he urged me to take the title."

"I bet it's an honorary, unofficial title. And with this group, that wouldn't lessen the importance of holding it," I explained, totally awestruck by the thought, and thoroughly embarrassed by my assertion that I knew more than he. "If you are the runner up to that title, I should be asking you about how you want to approach this, not the other way around."

"This is a reasonable assumption."

"So..." prompted Daniel.

"MajorCarter, DanielJackson, if you would follow me, I have prepared for the trip. I wish your learned input."

Teal'c led us to a locked mission equipment staging room. It was here that a few days ahead of a scheduled mission the team would assemble all of the equipment needed for that mission. SG-1 rarely used these rooms, which had not existed when we first started our missions. Inside the room stood a table on which a single plastic storage box with a double door hinged lid sat. I pointedly looked around the room looking for more.

"Teal'c... ah, is there more?"

"No, there is not."

He stepped up to the box and began to lay items out on the table. Snorkel and dive mask. One 5-minute emergency oxygen tank/mask combo. Zat. Folded BDU trousers and shirt, not quite the right color. A pair of rubber slip-on shoes, looking like macho slippers. And a short pair of diving fins. One web belt.

Having drifted up to the table, I fingered the clothing, synthetic, thin and light. Probably fast drying and unable to absorb water and add weight.

"Going light Teal'c?"

With a ghost of a smile and incline of his head he pulled one last item out of the box. Probably the heaviest item of the lot, a fully waterproofed field communication base unit, about the size of a WWII walkie-talkie but much more powerful than the field communication radios from that era which took a man to pack it around. I knew the specs of this unit, it had the power to penetrate more than three times the depth of water it would need to establish communication on PBX 123. None of the handhelds on the planet had that ability and they had no base unit either, since the MALP was to have served that purpose. A now useless MALP.

"I have had many days to contemplate this mission."

"You do know what you're doing, don't you?" asked Daniel.

"I will not risk my life, I will be most careful of preserving it. Do not fear."

"Can you swim that far?"

"That is one of the few advantages I have over O'Neill," he brushed his hand over his symbiote pouch, "better buoyancy."

"You would have that advantage, the Colonel is a good swimmer, but too lean to do distance. His own muscles drag him down into the water," I mused aloud.

"When will this happen?" Daniel asked.

"General Hammond, took me aside after the briefing. In 24 hours. I wish it were sooner." I lamented.

"Why so long?" Daniel's concern at the delay sounded in his brief question.

"In 24 hours is a 12 hour period with no scheduled incoming or outgoing events. Between now and then it's very heavy traffic. He won't risk other teams while trying to get to the Colonel. When you get right down to it, they all could be bored out of their minds and waiting for us to make the first move. Totally safe and unaware that we believe they have a threat among them."

"Somehow I can't quite see that. Jack is never that lucky, he's a trouble magnet."

"I agree, but he also attracts the right kind of help in the nick of time. And from what Teal'c has told us, it looks like the Colonel has provided his own rescue on this one.

"Indeed," agreed Teal'c and Daniel nodded sagely.

I felt their confidence, but there was a seed of doubt there too. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were already too late to help the Colonel.

God, Jack. Please be all right, I don't know what I'd do if you didn't come back.

**General George Hammond**

After the fluke of the last recon I decided against another, mainly because if conditions had changed, we would have heard from the team there. Out of necessity I felt I needed to discuss the lack of knowledge regarding the current conditions on the other side of the Gate with Teal'c. Precautions needed to be taken; this was not going to be a reckless journey. The Jaffa agreed to approach the wormhole gently, and in such a way that he could cope with water or air being on the other side. It would not do to have him enter the wormhole near the top and find the water gone, that would be a bit of a drop.

To my great relief he and SG-1 were taking this little expedition seriously. Forethought was needed and injuries were something we didn't need. And hell, we didn't even know if there was trouble on PBX 123. This could well be a fool's errand. Lord above, please let this be just that.

So here I stood, Sgt. Davis was at the ready. Major Carter and Dr. Jackson stood to one side looking down into the embarkation room, watching Teal'c. The Jaffa stood barely behind the caution strip, swim flippers in hand.

With a nod of my head it began.

The roar and scrape of the great rings, as one moved within the other, was deafening. And to think that between those indestructible hoops of alien metal a few sheets of paper would be hard put to find room, their machining that accurate. The loud thuds and announcements of 'lock' at each chevron seemed endless, until:

"Chevron seven encoded, and locked."

KAWOOOSH!

Even as the billow of destructive energy retreated to become the deceptively benign brilliant blue pool of familiarity, Teal'c followed closely behind its recoil. My heart launched into my throat at just how close he followed, I knew, as did many here, that it could reverse direction at a whim and obliterate him. He stopped as that bubble sunk into the event horizon, pushing it in, past its passive position in the opposite direction and then rippled and roiled in the throes of rebound, he stood way too close to that unstableness to don his flippers.

Just when in all of that movement did the energy revert from destructive to harmlessness? I could not recall any mention. That thought sidetracked me for but a moment and I returned to follow the drama below as Teal'c positioned himself with his back to the active wormhole. Carefully he placed the facemask and snorkel in place; and then checked each item he carried by touch. We all could see him breath deeply and repeatedly, over-oxygenating his blood, preparing for the lack of air. Turning his head he checked his position to the event horizon, bent his knees, pulled his head into his chest, folded at the waist and tucked head and chest in close to his upper thighs. Then he toppled backwards, falling into the false water, and with a final push of his feet against the ramp, he entered the blue glow, as any diver would fall from the edge of a boat into the sea, protecting his facemask from the pressures of entry.

Only ripples radiated across the energy film from his passage.

We all watched the fading movement until the motionless restless blue remained, casting it's eerie light across the attentive faces of the SFs who stood guard before it.

I forced myself to breathe and imagined that at its rasp of passage though my throat everyone else began to breathe too.

Now, we wait.

**Teal'c**

Strange. After all of the hundreds of journeys though the Chaapa'ai, that this would feel so different and be so disorienting. A Jaffa is trained to adjust and to do so quickly, yet I twisted and turned, seeking up from down. My struggles were taking time. Time, I for some reason, felt there was little of. Unlike O'Neill, I hold a more tolerant view of the mysteries that the universe contained, a tolerance that grows with the wisdom and knowledge that my Brother's protection affords me. One cannot always touch, taste or feel all. My beliefs are different than even DanielJackson, he, like my Warrior Brother, places reasons into the tangible. But because of my very belief in Kheb I place some reasons into the intangible. When my heart tells me something I listen.

My heart tells me to hurry, that my Brother needs me, that his Son of the Heart needs me. If I am not to lose O'Neill, I cannot lose either. There is much of my Brother in Lt.VanSickle, I would see him survive and thrive. Perhaps, his example will enable O'Neill to attempt to take up family life again. It would be good to have a child of his body to watch over. A true O'Neill by blood. But if that were never to happen my Brother's choice is without question, Lt.VanSickle is now part of the blood debt I own my Warrior Brother. A debt that I can never pay, that all of my race may not be able to pay.

Flinging out an arm, it impacts painfully with the metal of the now inactive gate. So easily I might have been sucked into its deadly surface. Despite my reassurances, this is still a reckless concern. My own words sour in my mouth, at my disregard for my safety; for I do not have the true right to risk my life, only O'Neill holds that. He does not know this and I would protect him from the knowledge, so I must foresee his thoughts in his absence when risk is involved. Even when my Brother is present I must divine this, I dare not tell him. He would deny my debt. To enable him to be true to his own inner guide and yet not betray my own, I have learned all that I can of his thoughts, to see how he would handle the risk.

I must confess that I have failed in mapping out O'Neill's thoughts to guide me though dangerous situations. My only salvation is that he urges me constantly to make my own decisions and to consider all parties in them, to see the opinions of others as much as is possible. He is adamant that I understand the consequences of every action. His very insistence tells me that he believes that he has made many bad choices and stands ready to accept all consequences of his actions. This is the part of O'Neill that I truly do not understand; he accepts blame for that which does not have a fortuitous conclusion, even events that he was unaware of or unable to affect a different outcome to. Just his proximity is enough to convince him that he should have done something to change the outcome.

He feels his perceived failures profoundly, deeply, never forgetting them. Constantly turning them over in his mind, restlessly seeking what he could have, should have done. It is this constant reappraisal that gives him the wisdom he denies, the wisdom that the Asgard has seen, and acknowledged, giving him, and only him their total trust. Yet, O'Neill does not trust himself. At the moment of decision his confidence is unshakable, later it is but an imagined gossamer.

Finally I find my equilibrium and stroked strongly for the surface, using the curve of the Stargate as a guide. Not once did I touch the horde of oxygen secured to my belt, pride of accomplishment suffuses me, as much as any Jaffa is allowed or capable of experiencing. My body rockets into the warm humid air, accentuating the coolness of the water, water that at my first touch had been warm as mother's milk compared to the sterile cold of transit. Dashing my hand across my eyes and blinking I can see a tawny green sky. Many skies of myriad colors have I seen in my life, but this has a golden hue that invites a feeling of peace and tranquility. A strange thought for a warrior? Those unfamiliar with warriors would think this, but such thoughts are not strange to O'Neill or others like us.

True warriors treasure peace and tranquility above all, save honor. For what is either without that. Slavery.

O'Neill freed me from that state, so that I in turn could free others. Now I fear for him and that fear gnaws at me as I strike out for the edge of this exceeding strange canyon.

**Lt. Dennis Wong**

" '_I don't care that he's back, even if he found O'Neill. He can damn well come to me, I'm on to something and I can't go running to a kid who's playing at being in command. I don't know what the Air Force had in mind with this FUBAR._' I'm certain that is exactly what she said," concluded Denise Kent. Her distaste of having been in the presence of Major Drake evident in her simmering words, she would not have gone within sight of the woman of her own volition. But having been hanging at the edge of those tending to our returned travelers she drew our young commander's attention. Only at this behest had she screwed up her courage and delivered the politely worded summons to report to him.

"And, this was perhaps... an hour ago?"

"Yes, I believe so, Dennis. I'm sorry, I was just so mad I had to clear my head. How could she be so... so..." our archeologist, and sometime linguist, struggled to find an adequate word. Sure proof of her state of mind. She was usually deft with words, producing an apt word for every situation.

"Combative?" I offered.

"Lt. Dennis Wong, you are entirely too forgiving of others. That is an extremely mild description of an out and out -- bitch," hissed an otherwise easygoing woman. To have her react in this matter should be more than adequate warning to others of the person she had just loudly and firmly defamed.

Reaching out I enclosed her shoulder with my only hand, gently squeezing, and smiled.

"Thank you Denise, I am sure that Lt. Van Sickle too, thanks you. I will ensure that the reply gets to him," I nodded my head in the direction of a mound of bedding near the stricken colonel, across the dim room. "Go, forget this unpleasant chore."

"I do have a section of the tunnels I want to check, but forgetting this will not happen. She needs taking down a peg or two. Let me know if you need anymore help. For him anything, even if it means talking to 'that woman' again."

At that declaration, she spun and sprinted down the dark corridor, back towards the common rooms nearer the upper entrances.

The major's refusal to come at command was a clear break of discipline. If this had happened earlier our lieutenant would have been in an untenable position, as the others may have followed her lead. Now, that could not happen as they had all given their allegiance to him. My gratification at her ill timing knew no bounds, if Major Drake had succeeded in breaking the legitimate, if somewhat unusual, chain of command, this mission would have truly been a 'FUBAR.'

Turning the unusual acronym over in my mind, as I returned to the colonel's side, renewed my amazement at the military machine that could so debase itself. Kneeling slowly, I then lay the back of my hand on the side of man's neck below his jaw, his skin reported only good news. From studying him I knew he was surfacing, with each breath he left behind the embrace of the narcotic, his pain and consciousness would both swell to awareness. His eyes even now moved restlessly under their protective lids, and huffing breaths would soon hold sound. Some innate animal sense caused me to glance up, my eyes captured by two slightly mismatched green orbs looking up at me; our young wolf had surfaced first.

"Lieutenant." Acknowledging his presence in word and deed, I bowed from my kneeling position as my grandfather had patiently taught me, giving our young cub the respect he was due, if not accept.

"Lieutenant, for a Swede of Viking portions you can act extremely oriental." Eric Van Sickle muttered as he levered himself up onto an elbow.

"Thank you. The Wongs have always prided themselves on excellent Chinese manners, even when the family member in question is an overly large, pale and blond lummox; with the grace of an ox."

"Strength of one maybe. You do the Wongs proud."

In mute acceptance of that pronouncement I dip my head. Flinging his blankets aside, Eric scrabbles over on hands and knees, headless of his own dignity, his eyeing of the Stokes' occupant during our exchange of words not enough to fuel his need to know. Soon, he kneels across from me, exhibiting a reluctance to reach out and touch the man who literally snatched him from an uncertain future. A man I'm sure is part of his destiny, as Eric is his.

Inhaling to gather breath to explain that the colonel is awakening, the sound of a clearing throat interrupts. There in the hewn stone portal stands a figure, I am uncertain whom it is, but young Eric, even with only one eye sees more than I with two.

"Captain Elliott... Monty."

The figure limps towards us, slowly resolving into our familiar geologist, he awkwardly lowers to the floor, I oblige with a firm shoulder and a helping hand. This is a difficult task for him; Eric and I both give him time to settle.

"Lieutenant and Lieutenant," he greets, grinning at some inner joke before continuing. "How's the Colonel?"

His gentle laughing blue eyes joined those serious mismatched green and fasten onto mine. So, using that stored breath I explained what little I knew, suspected and feared. Their countenances sober, our young leader's nearly grave at my words. It is then that he finally reaches out to lay a hand lightly on O'Neill's arm, as if afraid he would hasten the man's awakening, not wishing him to experience the pain we all know awaits him. Yet... I sense that the contact is more to keep both in the here and now, to prevent either from slipping apart. The sight harrows my soul; a stealthy glance at Captain Elliot gave me the impression that he too feels something similar at the sight.

Now would be a good time to disrupt such a somber moment, something that could speed our injured colonel towards those with more knowledge. So, in an unseemly haste, for me at least, I delivery Denise Kent's report of her conversation with Major Drake and watched those eyes change from somber to flashing heat. The incandescent green flame of Eric's one organic eye would surely melt any stone that those whose contained ghostly blue flames could ever find. Yet, Lt. Van Sickle's voice never revealed the anger his eye did.

"She's gone too far."

Both of us latch onto him to prevent him rising. An awkward move on our parts since the Colonel lies between us. Captain Elliot nearly topples in his attempt, that move stills our young commander long enough for the man to speak.

"Sir... Eric!" The good captain fisted his fingers in the young man's shirt, trying to gain his attention. "Listen. Listen to me."

Reaching out I grip the arm holding Eric, seeking his eyes.

"Be aware of who is here, of what you do." When his fleeting glance fastens onto me I flick my eyes down to the Colonel, that is enough to deflate his youthful anger, born of exhaustion. Elliot grips him still, until he too is sure the Lieutenant will not resume his mission, then, slowly, he released the captive fabric, shaking his reddened hand to restore circulation.

"Sir, you're overly tired." Monty received a petulant glance; the green flames still evident. "Allow me to deal with this. Perhaps... perhaps, my being a captain will help." Receiving an even more virulent look from our commander, he rocks back a bit, shocked and somewhat disappointed, having expected a more reasonable response. I do not believe our wolfling is capable of that at the moment.

"You do Captain Elliot and yourself an injustice. Can you even stand? Will your wits be sharp enough to deal with someone who sees you as nothing more than an actor in a play, with no real power? What will you accomplish with this righteous anger? Anger begets anger. And how will that help this man?" Splaying my hand onto the chest of the man between us, I draw his attention to one of the true issues here. "Would not it be better to cater to her weaknesses than you own? Allow the captain to use the false honey of capitulation, enticing the fly into your parlor. You cannot force her to comply, but you can deceive her into it. What better way to deal with a deceiver than to use their own tools against them?"

My risk showing my own passion gleamed in the two faces before me. Captain Elliot assumed a stunned expression that melted into a plea aimed at our angry wolfling. As for the wolfing, his anger flared, then drowned in the ruddiness that built across his features before fading to a gray acceptance. He had not been recovered when we arrived on this world and too much has happened to drain what little reserves he had, if he were not careful, he too would leave this planet in a Stokes. I and perhaps many of the others would or could prevent that from happening. There is much we can do to ease his burden, allowing him to think clearer, to work on the true priorities of this mission.

"Accept my apologies, I... I'm sorry; blowing my cool isn't the solution. I can be such an idiot." His eye studied the floor, except for that one painful lock onto each of us, asking silently for forgiveness, that he plainly didn't expect. Oh, callow youth.

"Eric, if you were an idiot, you'd already be exploding in that witch's face. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're just tired. Let us help you. Stay here and rest, watch over the Colonel. We all know what needs to be done. We all know the stakes. Just because one of us IS an idiot doesn't mean the rest of us are."

"Will you entrust this task to Captain Elliott? Meanwhile I will visit with as many of the others as possible, informing them of this development. We must provide a united front if this does come to a confrontation. Alone, you would have little success with this person of small sense, but against all of us, she may, at least, not struggle as much against the inevitable."

Our colonel chose that moment to put sound into his breath, capturing Eric in mid nod, drawing him away from us. Regret was not felt by me, our commander had assented to our plan before being diverted. Pulling Captain Elliott to his feet, he reluctantly permitted me to guide him from the room. Allowing our two commanders time together. My last glimpse was of the younger leaning in over the face of the older, now where had I seen such a look of longing and love, as amber-brown eyes opened at last.

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

My leg hurt. The stone floors of this mausoleum jarred it with every step, like self-torture. Yet I admired the feel and texture, the very sight of it. Yep, nothing like, stone love.

Lt. Wong and I were looking for Major Alice Drake, our structural engineer and so-called 'expert' on the way this place worked. At least she would have us believe that. She had not been where Denise Kent had originally encountered her, so we instituted a kind of grid search for the woman. So far we had talked to nearly every member of the team. The lieutenant had nearly finished consolidating them to Van Sickle's command. It really wasn't that difficult of a task. Though if this had happened right after we arrived, I'm sure the outcome would have been very different, much to our disgust.

Dennis was getting antsy, we both knew the Colonel was probably awake, and in pain. Eric is useless with a needle; most of us were in fact. Dennis and Marie Everett could handle them, but she loathed giving such strong drugs and would avoid it if possible, so Dennis was stuck with that. He'd have to return soon to administer the morphine. I knew that he hated the fact that he had to use it on a man who had gone to such lengths to avoid it, but he also hated to have the man in that kind of pain.

He was worried; I wondered what Dennis actually suspected of the man's injuries. I was fairly certain he would never get up again. It turned my stomach that someone like Colonel O'Neill would be lost to a world he had saved more than once. I had a bad feeling that without him, we didn't have a chance in Hell of surviving the future advances from some of the races we have already encountered out here among the stars. Let alone, our next encounter. Stumbling over something far worse than the Goa'uld was in the cards.

Dennis apologized profusely when he couldn't take it any longer. But I now knew where that witch was, Sgt. MacDowell had come stomping down a dark hallway, not even a flashlight in hand, startling us both when we happened by the junction with that hallway. An accidental meeting that fit our needs precisely. Sybil knew exactly where Drake was and that freed Dennis to return to the Colonel. The sergeant had to retrieve some potable lighting for the Major, but that wouldn't stop me from continuing on. From her simple instructions I just needed to go to the end of that dark hallway; Major Drake would be there, tapping a foot in impatience. Sybil said that Drake would have a long wait; she intended to have breakfast, lunch and dinner, since she had missed the first two at Drake's insistence.

Making my way down to the end, I found a blank wall, or nearly blank wall; a small black square hole snugged in the lower corner, it looked like it was a niche, small tunnel or crawl space. Sweeping the beam of my flashlight across the wall and even the ceiling, I wondered where Drake was. Then, I heard her.

"Come on you bastard, move!"

Freezing at the epithet, I surmised that she couldn't mean me and she sounded muffled. Like...

I knelt down at the black hole, shining the light inside, the dark depth of it swallowed the beam, but I could hear movement. And... banging. Metal on stone. And scraping.

"More. Damn it. ARRRG!"

Sounded like she was trying to budge the un-budge-able by any and all means at her disposal. I leaned against the wall one-handed; my fingers felt the heavy thud, long before it filtered up the shaft to the opening. Closely followed by:

"CRAP!"

Immediately followed by scuffling, then something long with a what looked like a shoe attached came skidding out of the opening, slid across the floor and clanged into the wall. Having sprung back to avoid the projectile I missed the cheek motion of the butt that emerged scant seconds after, followed by its owner, Major Drake. She hopped up to her one leg, groped for purchase, caught me in the chest and knocking me sprawling. Water began to shoot out of the crawlspace. The water became a torrent.

Drake staggered to a wall and began banging on it. Me, being butt down and hampered by my knee could only sit there as the water hit me square in the chest and pushed me down the hallway, I must have traveled a dozen feet when the water abruptly cut off.

Sitting in the rapidly draining pool of water, shocked into immobility by the suddenness of events, I dumbly watched as Major Drake hopped over to what turned out to be her artificial leg, miraculously still where it landed, despite the recent flood. She reattached the limb and stomped around adjusting it to her satisfaction before she actually noticed me.

"What?"

"What the Hell did you do?"

"Do? I fixed the problem." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a very small object, walked over, pulled up my hand, dropped something cold and heavy into it, closed my fingers around it's wetness and said, "And that was the problem."

She briskly strode up the still dark hallway, her flashlight swinging wildly from it cord attached to her belt. She bellowed Sgt. MacDowell's name every dozen feet or so, she continued like that until I couldn't hear her anymore.

"The woman's a damn lunatic," I exclaimed to the now empty corridor. Then I remembered my clenched hand.

Bringing up my flashlight I slowly opened my hand. There glinting in the strong light of its beam was a rudely crafted silver disk with a vaguely human profile fashioned on it. It was slightly bent, angled as if it had been caught or squeezed in something.

Looking around I noted all the water was gone. So why could I still hear it?

**Unknown Assailant**

Peering in from the darkened passage that shelters me, I see Colonel O'Neill. He is still within the heavily padded Stokes, swaddled in blankets. Lt. Van Sickle kneels next to him. Their low voices whisper to me from the far side of the stone vault that they occupy. Footsteps coming from the surface force me to run on silent bare toes to the next vault, to hide in the protective darkness of the unused space there.

My shroud of darkness remains intact, the steps do not bear a light, it knows an unwarranted comfort in this alien darkness. Once certain the steps had entered the room where my prey is, I cautiously slither back into the corridor, hugging the wall to listen outside the chamber, listening to better judge my chances of taking down those within.

The newcomer says he is here to administer pain relief to the Colonel and will leave shortly. This is good, only the two I seek will remain, one too injured to resist and soon to succumb to a narcotic. The other, my true goal, I can take by surprise and prepare the scene.

Long minutes pass, only the three within disturb the tomblike silence of this alien construction. Every movement reveals their position, every voiced word their plans. The newcomer prepares to depart; I ghost back to my sepulchral haven. When the retreating steps faintly echo back towards the others I emerge to approach.

The young lieutenant still kneels beside his colonel. But _that_ voice is softly slurred with impending drugged sleep. Toeing across the floor I raise my weapon to forcibly impact it against the younger man's head. He sprawls across the older.

Using my knee, I push the body aside and then pin the older man firmly in place. His grunts of pain are interspersed with the other man's name, 'Charlie.' One handed I hold the syringe, using my teeth to uncap it. Pushing more of my weight onto the feebly struggling man I drive the needle home at the junction of neck and shoulder swiftly squirting the drug into his system.

I had not realized that these two where now so close as to use names other than those used with the others. It is a shame that I must do this, but I have little choice.

**Teal'c**

Something was wrong.

There would be no current in a pool and that is exactly what this canyon was, a pool. Yet, I had drifted to the right of my intended path.

Adjusting my direction I once again had the dark slot that held the ramp before me. Scant seconds later, I had drifted off course again.

Never had I encountered such a problem.

Stopping, I tread water, slowing pushing myself in a standing circle, checking in all directions for the influence that prevented me from reaching my goal. To the right of my path, in the direction of my enforced drift appeared my first indication of it. A series of black rectangles studded what should be a smooth wall; they appeared to extend below the level of the water.

A chance breeze carried yet another clue, stone scrapping against stone.

Facing the anomaly, I strained to hear, but my body sensed something other than sound. It felt a tug upon it, pulling me in the direction I did not wish to go. As I watched, as one, the dark rectangles resolved into gimbaled slabs of stone as light appeared on each edge, the slabs swung to a perpendicular position in respect to their previous position. The tawny sky of this world was plainly visible though the new openings.

The pull on my body increased, I began to stroke away from those suddenly ominous openings.

Yet, I was dragged towards them, I could not escape.

Go to Chapter Fifteen


	15. Chapter 15

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**General George Hammond**

"Sergeant."

Twisting slightly in his seat before his workstation, Sgt. Walter Davis faced me and questioned silently; my expression answered. With a nod of his head he returned his attention to the keyboard and monitor before him. Immediately the din of the operating gate filled the room, commanded by his swift, sure keystrokes. Carrying out my unspoken orders the sergeant knew what to do, and what I wanted.

I was done waiting.

There had been entirely too much conjecture about what had been and might be happening around Lt. Van Sickle, happenings that pulled in Colonel O'Neill, impacting the SGC and I. And once I'm pulled in, the buck stops.

The Gate continued to work and the room held its collective breath. We resembled a still life, frozen for an instant in time.

The vast liquid roar of the engaging Gate drew my attention, and that held multi-lunged breath released simultaneously making the very air pulse with the hopes of everyone witnessing this event. Now I had but to utter the correct command to find the answer to the question that PBX 123 had been posing to me, and the entire SGC. Answers, soon to be obtained, questions we had aplenty. I spoke.

"Lieutenant."

Lt. Elena Mendez had returned; she showed a great deal of patience. She had been briefed by nearly everyone who came within ten feet of her, sometimes twice. Walter Davis tried to fend them off, but she stoically endured. He had informed me she had argued vehemently for the privilege to do this job, to help the Colonel. She could have tried to order the sergeant to accept her, but again, she showed excellent judgment. A lieutenant doesn't mess with a sergeant and live, just think of them as a colonel you don't salute, that is their level of power in the chain of command. Even major generals pause before their wrath.

Watching Lt. Mendez work she impressed me with her ability to perform under such pressure as she prepared to open a line of communication, methodically working though all the procedures for establishing contact with the MALP before hailing our man. Teal'c would answer and solve this whole mystery.

We waited.

Lt. Mendez is another of the Colonel's success stories. I'd first heard of her when her request for assignment to the SGC crossed my desk, her record hadn't warranted her acceptance into the program, but he saw something and had her report to briefing room topside, where he talked to her for two hours and then personally walked her into the SGC. She stood outside my office in awe while I signed her transfer papers. Her current professionalism here so at odds with the file I had read, never have I regretted it. Colonel O'Neill is rarely fooled.

So as to not make the young woman nervous, I let my attention wander. And, was therefore able to glare at Major Carter and Dr Jackson when they slipped into the room, there were entirely too many people present here that should be attending to other matters. Even Siler contrived to be present, and that _large_ wrench. I had doubts that anything in the SGC was enormous enough to warrant having it, though, on second thought, perhaps some of the fittings on the Gate were. That thought drew my attention to the SFs, which I counted and counted again; there was double their usual number. One of them had an off world duty pack near him, I stifled the urge to walk up to the protective glass barrier to see if other packs were stacked out of sight. O'Neill's example had been taken to heart by this group. Looking closer I could see that there were additions to their duty uniforms, additions that only expected off world travel would account for.

Each infraction added to the esteem that Colonel O'Neill was held in. No one here was fooled by the face he presented to the world; they each knew him to be an honorable, sensitive and soul-wounded man. Many of these same people have tried to get him to move on with his life, but only with small success. The specter of his only child loomed over that valiant heart, a specter only he held to existence. The child himself would never have exacted such a price, for he too was an O'Neill, fair in all things, save betrayal. Maybe, just maybe that was the problem. Did Jack imagine that Charlie saw what had happened as betrayal? I knew that it was very likely, even knowing that it was suspected that the child had very deliberately disobeyed his father and most likely jimmied the lock to get to that weapon. Jack is too methodical to have forgotten to lock it. What had happened to Charlie was more fate then fault. A tragic occurrence no one could foresee.

As in a death such as that there is always an investigation, no one but Sara could remotely blame him, a senseless blame born from a senseless loss and a need to strike out at someone. He must have stood defenseless against her, blaming himself. He still blames himself.

Jack never mentions Charlie, and when asked by others, he will acknowledge the fact that he had a son at one time, telling them the boy had died. Period. No explanation. To my knowledge now one has ever pressed him beyond that, his very aura roils with pain at such times, a pain so obvious that even the most callus beat a hasty retreat from his presence. But many of the people here, who work with him on a daily basis know the truth; knows the pain he bears to this day and probably will every day of the rest of his life. They do their damnest to support him in every way, even if it means just having a piece of his favorite cake, fresh and available at all times. I know for a fact that he is partial to a certain tea and one of the women in the commissary discovered it. She began supplying it, paying for it herself when unable to requisition it. I sometimes wonder if he knows and chooses to turn a blind eye to that, to prevent embarrassing himself or them. It would be very in character for him.

These people didn't do these things because he was a father in pain, even if he is. No, they have seen him lay his life on the line to protect them again and again. That has the most impact, his willingness to sacrifice himself for their welfare. Oh, they know he can brawl out the hard command, the command that condemns all of the SGC to oblivion and they also know he'll fight to his last breath to avert ever giving that order. He has their absolute trust, essential to successful command, but he also has their affection. That he doesn't know what to do with, so he can only offer what he has to give -- himself.

Shaking the melancholy off, I checked my own watch against the official clocks on the walls. This was taking too long. Even before the young lieutenant turned to face me I knew that no signal had been received. Answers would not be forthcoming.

"Sir..."

"Thank you lieutenant, this was not completely unexpected. In six hours then?"

I'd learned long ago, that plans never go as anticipated. But I knew that SG-1 always pulled a rabbit out of the hat, but their timing was atrocious.

"Yes sir!" There was a proud salute in those two words, she turned and shutdown her station before quickly leaving. I watched, saying nothing, the others, who had no status here, including two members of SG-1 drifted from the room. Everyone knew that a second attempt would happen. Disappointment was evident on all of their faces, but not defeat.

Now, again, we wait.

**Unknown Assailant**

My aim was excellent, O'Neill's struggles weakened, his voice quieted, and his eyes slid shut as I watched. There was a burning anger deep within those dark amber orbs, he fought well, but it was inevitable that he succumb. Slowly I eased up from his body.

Turning away, I reached for the other syringe, readying it for use. The younger man is to live, the older to seemingly die at his hands. The lieutenant must live and be ostracized for his actions, then he will be vulnerable and easily spirited away, no one the wiser. No one caring. For he will have killed a man respected by many, yet hated by some few in power, those same who hold my leash.

This needle must appear self inflicted, into his arm, such as the one laying inner side up and flung slightly away from the younger man's prone, unconscious body. Going to one knee I study its pale flesh, poised with the drug filled syringe, ready to plunge it home. As I touch the tip of the needle softly to the tender exposed skin, something smashes into my side, flinging me away.

My head impacts the floor to momentarily stun me, immobilizing me long enough for a weight to roll onto me. It is Van Sickle; his face is red and angry as his forearm bits into my neck. His glazed eyes mere inches from my face, no recognition flashes across them, he is still stunned. My advantage. He straddles me holding me down. I claw at his eyes causing him to rear back. Hooking a leg onto an out flung arm I pull towards the floor, flipping him backwards, his head narrowly missing the Stokes.

Having heard the audible crack of skull to stone floor, I continue, my momentum carrying me in the direction of my foot as I flip to my knees and crawl up his body. With a balled fist I strike again and again at his head, hoping to create an opening in which to use the drug, which lies nearby.

He rolls, trying to dislodge me, pushing me back onto the motionlessly body in the Stokes, its edge digs into my side and back, above my hip. Abruptly, I'm rudely jerked back further, a bar of iron across my throat. Shuddery hot breathes gust across my ear. "nonononono," like echoes in my head, I desperately release Van Sickle to deal with this very real threat to life. Gripping with my hand I attempt to pry the sinewy arm from my windpipe.

O'Neill should be dead!

I struggle, but I'm unable to ease the pressure, the dimness of the light changes to a dull gray, lowering to a limp absolute black.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

The cool, hard, unyielding stone bit into my body. Desperately my being wanted to find some comfort, but nothing seemed to want to obey my reptilian urge to move. Held rigid by my stunned mammalian upgrades, the cold blood of a past time raised a panic which nudged that newly acquired warmth to awareness, birthing a swarm of bright pin pricks flooding my preconscious thoughts, growing until they blanketed my blossoming awareness with a white noise of light, pain and confusion. My current evolution no less painful than my genetics had been.

Slowly it filtered into my sluggish thoughts that the discomfort of my position held no great priority to the searing, momentary pain radiating from the back of my head. Did I slip, trip or slide into a wall? From a kneeling position?

Then the curious feeling of another's nearby body clamored for attention within my muddled senses and my thoughts took another slow turn...

Still white-hot, an old memory reared its head, of lying on the floor, of feigning unconsciousness, of a body leaning over mine. Ghosts of that ancient terror gripped me, again fearing that if I moved the fists would return. Betrayal demanded tears, survival demanded passiveness, no movement, non-reaction, non-existence. Desiring to not be. Betrayal.

Then I remembered, that person, that terror was gone -- dead. And I mourned anew. Father!

Willing the past back into the past, I pushed away the still live ember of pain. Somehow summoning control over my own body, I slit my eyes to see, yet remained motionless, still feeling the old fear. Next to me, a slender back, twisted away from me, caught like a statue in a spotlight, suddenly to be transmuted to mobile flesh before my disbelieving eyes and the glint of metal swung towards me. The now very human figure halted, seemingly to study me. My held breath was sucked inward when the glint resolved into a needle, and then renewed its course, descending to rest against my arm. That part of me that was still reptilian swung my leg up from the floor to stop the slender dart from impaling me. When next, thought caught up with body, I was crawling onto this person, a person who wanted to hurt me, like another had hurt me. This time I was hurting back. Refusing to submit, no longer passive, that old ember fueled my shaking muscles with Herculean strength.

With my arm I pinned whom ever the hell this, man, woman -- demon was -- to the cold stone floor. Shaking my head, I tried to clear my vision. Who or what was this? Fingers shockingly raked my face and I reared back, only to be slammed to the floor. Too quickly, too easily I went down. Are there two of them? I grayed out, but determined, I held onto the one I could feel under my own fingers, the one I knew was out to hurt me. Using my weight, I bend this demon to the floor. Hoping the other didn't step in, if there were another.

Blinding pain erupted across my lower ribs, a sharp elbow, well placed, that distraction tumbled me to the bottom, my assailant once more atop me, reaching for me. Fingers brushed my face, but unable to dig in as I felt that hot body tugged from me. Blinking and raising my head, I see a shocked face, a hand desperately pulling at the strong arm locked across her neck, wrenched back against the chest beneath her, the Colonel's strain-reddened face buried in her neck, holding her, choking her.

Her! Just one person? A one-armed woman. I hurriedly scanned the chamber, fearful of further conflict, sure that I would not withstand a continued assault, but no one else was here. No one else had been here, as no sound of anyone fleeing filled my ears. Relief flooded me, prodding my pride, which, unwanted at the moment, chose to clamor, for I had been taken down by a one-armed woman. Shoving that useless macho reaction aside I passed a hand over my eye, still not sure of what I was seeing. Unable to track events, I couldn't react.

'Yeah, fine solider I was, frozen like this.'

My efforts to comprehend had sweat popping out across my forehead, I fumbled at my waist, tugging off my belt. At least I could bind the woman's ankles together, as those legs were more dangerous than her one arm. While letting my hands fumble though the difficult task of knotting the restraint I dumbly stared at the slowly flushing face of my assailant. Jerking violently in reaction to recognition of that face, I realized just who lay gasping against Colonel O'Neill...

'My God, Tina... Captain Tina Iron Horse.'

This shocking knowledge was just another indigestible chunk of information, so many thoughts swirled across my still recovering ability to think, and nothing seemed to truly connect. Something was escaping me. I knew it. My vision drifted to the arm holding her, Jack's arm. Jack's arm! But, he couldn't move his... Like an artillery shell illuminating a battlefield, joy erupted inside me. Then I saw his face, eyes clenched shut, rage his only expression, his forearm tightened across Iron Horse's neck, holding her, chocking her. Killing her slowly. My God!

"Colonel! Colonel, you can let go," my voice soft and pleading as I moved closer to him. My friend, my commander, my savior.

Iron Horse was slowly turning blue, she struggled wildly, jerking against the Colonel's arm, but he doesn't let go. Tugging at his arm, I feel those muscles bunch, pulling harder, Tina goes limp, yet he pulls. He's muttering.

"CharlieCharlieCharlie."

Pleading, stroking, touching, trying to catch his eye, nothing works. Tears streak my face in frustration as I do everything I know to get the man to let go. I know now that I'll have to hurt him. He's killing her and I can't allow that. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's not himself. But those reasons don't help me. God, I don't want to do that, not this man. I don't want to hurt him. He's never been anything but fatherly to me. Please I don't want to do this. God, do you hear me?

**Teal'c**

Stroking strongly, my body fought the pull of the water, my mind, however, contemplated my predicament. Effortlessly I perused my knowledge of the area, seeking answers. O'Neill and I had made numerous forays to scout the area. Into the creek canyon, along the forested cliff and the drop off that afforded such a magnificent view of the verdant grasslands and lake. It is the cliff, here along the Gate Canyon that drew us most frequently. Neither of us was able to find a safe way down that stone face. It jutted out from its unseen base rooted in that sea of vegetation. We had spent many hours together or separately, standing, watching and listening, hoping to gain information by our very presence. All that could truly be ascertained was that it was a long way down.

Only the most intelligent of Jaffa reach the heady position of First Prime, and the Jaffa of Chulac are among the most intelligent of warriors bred among the Goa'uld. That inbred ability told me that testing that vertical distance via inaction would have undesirable permanent results. Such results would prevent me from amusing my Warrior Brother with this line of reasoning and would cause me to break faith with those I had promised I would return safely to. With that in mind I rolled onto my back, to better see where I was being pulled towards and to discover a means to escape my dilemma.

My short swim fins gave me enough power to slow my inexorable course, providing time to notice an anomaly at one end of the openings. They did not extend to the adjoining wall as they had on the opposite end. Drawing closer, two had failed to function, and there was an obstruction across the last open portal beside them. This could be salvation.

Kicking against the current pulling me toward the open sky beyond the cliff I influenced my path to intersect with those dark portals. The obstruction resolved into a limbless tree, straight, slightly tapering and shallowly inclined about the escaping water. Its very existence had me sweeping my eyes swiftly across the heights towering above me -- no vegetation -- I would have been shocked to have found any as I recalled none, not even lichens, upon that stark stone; and within the Gate Canyon, only grass and small flowering plants entwined with the turf existed. No bushes, shrubs, nor trees. How had it gotten here? And just how could it be used to my advantage?

Pondering this question I judged the distance to that slim hope, it sat just above the water. That visual engendered a much-needed plan, now I must slow my rush to oblivion as much as possible. Placing my flipper clad feet before me, I spread my arms and using all my limbs to fight against the current, yet carefully aimed my path to slide under that trunk.

Harder and harder, I worked against the hastening flow of water being funneled out into a free fall to the grasslands yet unseen. The thought of my deep debt to O'Neill, his need, gave me strength beyond that my symbiote could supply. My will flowed freely. Nature would bend; I would live to fight another day. No doubt was harbored in my heart.

My resolve was unshakable; no matter how swiftly I seemed to be approaching, I would prevail. And at just the proper time I thrust my upper body upright, impacting the tree harshly. My symbiote freely communicated its alarm, flailing furiously within me. Upon striking the obstruction I flung my arms up to grasp the tree, kicked strongly with my legs, I forced my body upwards, I was nearly too successful, overshooting my intent. Convulsively tightening my arms about the trunk I dug my nails into the mud-covered bark-less wood, my nails splitting and tearing, imperfections in the surface of my safe haven tore gouges into the flesh of my arms, yet I held firm. My legs, followed by my hips, however, continued across the slimy tree to descend towards that jet of water that obeyed one of nature's unbreakable laws -- gravity. But, if I were to avoid the application that law I must now bend it to the point of rupture. The torrent was swift and my legs bounced off of it, to ride atop the water in shuddering bounds, threatening to break my hold.

My plan, sparked by a memory tugged at me, O'Neill and I had gone to the far west. A realm called Oregon to a river named Rogue. There we had chanced across a group doing a most strange and daring sport, like surfing, only on a swift moving body of water. The 'surfer' never traveled, but was buoyed up by allowing the moving water to travel beneath them. They used a small board, or their back or chest. I could do the same here. This was close to the situation they had. They had used an overhanging tree to achieve their opposing stationary immovable force or an anchored rope. One had shown me how to hop from tree to water and back again. This I could do.

Carefully I adjusted my hold on the subtly vibrating tree, then, as before, I swung my body in a glide across the moving surface of the water, pendulum like, using the muscles of my shoulders to power my movements, faster and faster until I had enough momentum to swing my legs and hips upward and onto the tree. Not successful the first time, I achieved my goal the second. Stilling, I took stock of my condition; all damage was minor and already healing.

Casting my vision back across the water filled Gate Canyon, there, gleaming in the tawny green-gold light, as water sluiced from its alien metal, the Chaapa'ai rose slowly from the water that choked it. Looking below me, the surface of the steel-blue water had also retreated, being now out of my reach. My feat of mere seconds ago would have been impossible at any other time. I knew not who to thank for my life, as the only gods I knew were false. Perhaps O'Neill's God, the one god, whom he denied with his voice, but not his heart, was my benefactor.

The Tau'ri's concept of 'god' is such a strange idea, a god that is invisible, all knowing, and whose presence one could not escape. How can one know that this 'god' exists? Cassandra had escorted me to one of his temples, so very different from those of Apophis. She explained that there were many temples, all with different, but similar, beliefs, that great wars had been sparked by these differences. It saddened me to think how like the Goa'uld it was and that O'Neill had suffered in one of those conflicts, even if Cassandra was quick to deny that being the reason for it.

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

My ears were filled with the rush of water, water that I had just watched drained away. Leaning against the cool wet stone floor, my fingers passed on a subtle vibration. This was different; this wasn't about that little bit of water that Major Drake had unleashed into this dead end corridor. This sounded like more, much more.

Feeling the cold bent coin in my hand, I lifted it up again, noting the color. Silver, it flashed silver in the beam of my flashlight. Straightening out and rolling onto a hip I pushed it into my short's side pocket, knowing there in its depth it would be safe. It was a puzzle that could wait. This other, this sound, and what Drake had done, needed my attention now. Damn that woman!

Not wanting to chance falling in an attempt to stand on the wet stone without support, I rolled unto my hands and knees, letting my flashlight drag at its cord hooked around my wrist. Gingerly I crawled along, using my fingers as a guide to find where the vibration was emanating from, and it would seem that the sound of muffled rushing water was in the same direction. Both led me to the now gone tunnel that Drake had so swiftly backed out of. Supporting myself against that now smooth wall, I climbed awkwardly to my feet. Once upright I shook out my brace clad leg, hoping I hadn't bent the support bars, that would be painful, but apparently they survived intact much to my relief.

What had Drake been fumbling at on the adjoining wall? Was it some kind of control for the tunnel, a tunnel that must be some kind of access? Access to what? Leaning my face into the stone above the tunnel I felt the rough rush, pushing my hand down the smooth surface my fingertips encountered a barely perceptible join, a crack. Too straight to be natural, one of the edges of the tunnel, had to be. Confirmed through feel where it joined the two vertical cracks to begin forming a square hatch or cover and just a faint dark line in my flashlight beam. Turning and leaning my back against the wall, I illuminated the spot I remembered Drake had targeted for her fumbling. Nothing, not a damn thing.

Then a stray thought struck, moving the flashlight to the wall I shone the beam across the stone angling it from less than an inch above its surface. Slowly sweeping it, I almost missed the dull crescents the beam revealed. Three by three, nine in all. Placing their location in my mind I limped over to them, running my fingers across that section of stone. Dimples, just little round dimples in the stone.

As if contacting raw current, I snatched my fingers away. Drake had used them to open that tunnel and that tunnel sounded as if it were full of pressurized water. I sure as hell didn't want to open it now. I stumbled back a back a step, reviewing what she had said.

'_Do? I fixed the problem.'_

'Oh, my God.' The water in the Gate Canyon. She actually found a way to drain it! Was that it?

What had transpired here faded to insignificance. The only way to truly answer my own question would be to go and see if the water was draining way. Pushing myself away from that wall with the alien controls, I limped as fast as I could back the way I had come, thinking furiously about the shortest route to the ramp. I had a few false turnings, as I had been quite low in the system so I needed to go up to the lowest bolthole exit. Shortly I was crawling out onto the ramp and headed down it.

Keeping the light on the stone path before me I could see that it was wet, stepping carefully I approached the tall brilliant lower end of the ramp. Only at the very end did water lap at it, but even as I watched, it receded away from me until I stood at the very edge of the open canyon. Before me stood the gate, gleaming in the light, only its lower limb and its platform covered in water. Great gouges appeared in what had been a smooth carpet of grass, almost lawn like in appearance, these tears of dark soil drew my eye toward the plains side of the pit we called the Gate Canyon and to my astonishment there were tall door like openings in that wall, all across that side. Wait, now the end nearest me didn't quite have openings all the way. As if drawn by a magnet I stumbled blindly toward those openings, along one of the intact tongues of turf, and by chance towards those that were missing. There, at that point was a pile of debris out of which poked a tree across the last opening. Then something jumped from it, wading messily though the rapidly disappearing pool of water. It was dark, manlike and had a gleam of gold on its head. Jaffa!

How the hell did a Jaffa get here? Were there more? Fear shot thought me. I'm a fricking geologist! Drawing my side arm, I brought it up, the Jaffa seemed to put on more speed; I shouted:

"Kree!"

It just meant attention, or attend, or something like that but I had heard that they treat it like 'stop.' But this big scary figment of a nightmare Jaffa continued to advance so I yelled again.

"Kree! Damn it!"

My fear added my own version of 'stop' for effect. Great effect, cause my voice ran up the register and I damn near strangled on it. I shuffled backwards, brought my weapon up and took aim. The Jaffa practically skidded to a halt and slowly raised his arms. That had me shocked, would they actually understand enough to react that way. He looked calm, like he was waiting on me to simmer down. I squinted at the alien warrior and advanced, careful to keep my 9mm aimed at him, yet using my eyes to spot others, if there were others. I thought about using my radio, but from experience I knew it wouldn't carry out of the canyon, and hardly up the ramp when standing in its mouth. But I did raise my arm to grasp it before dropping it; the Jaffa's eyes appeared to follow that movement. Stranger and stranger.

The only Jaffa I'd ever seen in the flesh was SG-1's Teal'c, usually in Colonel O'Neill's company, not often and not for long. Otherwise, I'd only seen Jaffa in photographs and this Jaffa seemed weird, the only thing that had stood out about them to me, beyond their size, was the type of almost uniform they wore, I didn't... Shit! He was wearing BDU's. Only one Jaffa would be wearing those. I swear he smiled when this revelation hit me; it had to have shown on my face. But just to make sure...

"Teal'c?" I yelled.

"Yes, I am Teal'c," was his reply.

My backbone became warm jello; it took everything I had to remain upright, so all encompassing was my relief at those words.

"Teal'c."

"Yes, I am Teal'c. I did not mean to alarm you."

"Teal'c!"

Unable to process this information I froze dumbly, looking at someone who must have come from the SGC. This wonderful figment of my imagination, his arms in the air, spoke.

"Yes, I am Teal'c. Captain. I intend you no harm."

"Oh," hastily I dropped the point of my side arm to the ground, thumbed on the safety, which I didn't remember releasing, and carefully secured the weapon in its holster, never once actually looking at the man who stood 25 feet from me. His shadow on the ground before me was the only indication that he had moved; so silent, setting my teeth on edge once more. Furtively I looked at him.

"Forgive me. My approach has made you uneasy"

'Uneasy.' Try downright scared out of my wits, the burn of adrenaline still coursed though my blood stream, making me hyper reactive to even the feel of the breeze across my face.

"No. No... Ah, that's okay. I'm just a little spooked. Jaffa and all. Where are the others?" Pointedly I looked around and then settled on Teal'c, finally coming to terms with his existence here, now.

He was wet! Raising a finger I was going to ask about that.

"There was much water when I came though the Chaapa'ai. That is why I alone came. Have you solved the silence that has brought me?"

"Silence? Well, I don't know. All of the water being gone is news to me; I'm the first to discover that. You came through the Gate, just you?"

"Yes. Is all well here?"

"Ah, no. There was an accident, Colonel O'Neill is... well, he's hurt bad."

"An accident?"

"Yes, there was a storm, he was caught in a flood in the canyon. That was a few days ago."

"Take me to O'Neill."

In those words I saw the First Prime of Apophis and I did not hesitate to turn and head back up the ramp, as rapidly as I could. He did not rush me, not physically, but something about him lashed at my psyche, pushing me hard enough for him to arrest my dash with a hand to my elbow. It was in his eyes, he knew something, something he couldn't explain, just as I felt something. At a safer pace, for me, we climbed the ramp.

**Teal'c**

The dialing device for the Chaapa'ai was easily within my reach, and Major Carter was certain that it would be unharmed by the water, yet, my heart said hasten to O'Neill. Now.

I turned my back on my duty, a duty that even O'Neill would accomplish before seeking any member of SG-1, even knowing that delay would result in a death. I am not O'Neill.

My guide felt my haste and foolishly pushed beyond his limits to accommodate it. Reaching out I touched his arm, brought his eyes to mine and let him see the nebulous fear that sang though my being. He saw, though did not comprehend, and that incomprehension exhibited itself in a terse tale of what had occurred here. I felt a modicum of relief; there was no mention of an occurrence that would indicate the presence of a malicious force bent on harming O'Neill or Lt.Van Sickle, or any of the others here. In this our fear would appear to be unfounded.

From Captain Ellis's words, it appeared that I was too late to protect my Warrior Brother. This saddened me greatly. To think that such a great warrior had been robbed of all movement and I knew what would await him on his home world. Should I steal him away, take him to a world replete with a sarcophagus? I would never be able to return to the home world of the Tau'ri. Could he? And if they denied him his right to return, could I convince him to join with me, to fight will the Jaffa rebellion against the Goa'uld? So much of him is rooted in the soil of his world, could he survive being separated from it? Would he live, knowing that he could never again visit that one place where he son lay? I think not.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

What...?

Charlie. Where's Charlie?

What... what's that, a...a man... a man on Charlie. No! Not him. God, please! Not that! He's just a baby.

"nonononono."

My God, Charlie! Don't hurt my boy. Get away from him.

Noooooooo!

You can't take him. Please don't hurt him anymore. Please! No! Charlie!

Won't let you take him. Won't let you hurt him.

Leave him alone you pervert!

Get the fuck off him!

Weak, so weak. I claw at the undulating attacker. Slowly pulling him to me.

A sob escapes my lips at the sight of my son dazed under this monster.

I locked my arm across the guard's throat and squeezed.

Kill you. God, DAMN you, I'll Kill you. KILL YOU!

"CharlieCharlieCharlie," I cooed his name. Love and shame. Don't look. Don't look.

Won't let go. Can't let go.

I can't get all of ya, but I have this one. This one dies.

CHARLIEEEEeeeee! I scream into the dark. Lost.

**Teal'c**

Surrounded, and with little hope of escape, I surrendered. Still my heart shouted to go, seek out O'Neill. Now.

My guide had happened upon others here one PBX 123. Passively I watched them.

Tau'ri are very different from the humans I have known, they are very loud, passionately so. Nosily mobbed around me, they relish the closeness of one another as explanations spilled between them; such closeness reveals their need for contact, even O'Neill, despite appearances, is tactual. Yet, within the din, each word spoken carved individuals from the meld. Words that struck me deeply, words of O'Neill's condition, words that told me 'go,' yet I must remain, for only they knew where my Warrior Brother lay. Tau'ri cannot be pushed, led or forced; they exemplify wild equines. Impatiently, I waited.

"...asleep. I'm in charge!"

Eyes narrowing, the speaker of those words emerged from the others, my fingers caressed the zat at my hip, habit measuring the distance between this voice and I. The words spoken were not inflammatory, if uttered by another they would carry a different meaning, it was the arrogance underlying them that drew my instant anger. This voice wished others to submit and it challenged beyond its power to command that submission. Petty tyrant.

"Not as in charge you as you want to be!"

"Yeah, who died and left you a colonel."

"He's from the SGC. Why shouldn't he be in charge?"

This speaker's finger impinged my personal space; his words effectively made me the center of group's attention, but only briefly, as the arrogant voice made further declarations. Each word from this individual angered me further. No honor existed within them.

"He's not even military. I'm a Major in the US Marines and ranking officer here. THAT puts me in charge."

Such traitorous words drew all eyes, even my own. Those around me appeared ignorant of my tightening grip upon the zat, they were too involved in the struggle for dominance, words their weapons on this moral battleground. It was the stance of those refusing to submit that eased my grip, I would wait, I wished to hear the full extent of this person's ignorance, to observe just how tolerant the group was towards such pompousness.

"The lieutenant isn't dead, injured, unconscious, missing or AWOL. He's asleep. Sleeping doesn't invoke anything that would put you in charge. At least not anymore in charge than carrying out HIS orders would put you... Sir!"

"You're certainly not in charge of me, I'm civilian. I follow who I chose. The lieutenant is in legitimate command here and I would follow Colonel O'Neill, even injured, before following you!"

"You're too blind to see the kid's a 'can't cut it' mercy case, given command out of guilt at the insistence of an over-the-hill has-been who looks to want more than just 'friendship' in return."

Being slow to anger is a tool of survival for any of rank among the Jaffa; this however, was beyond even my vast capacity to withstand, yet before I could move to defend my Warrior Brother's honor, the others had crowded around MajorDrake, their reproach plainly visible. Never had I witnessed such a negation of respect that rank provides blindly among the Tau'ri. Here those who should follow have found a leader unable to lead. An officer who is Ha'shak, a fool.

"Everyone hear that?"

"Yeah." "You bet!" "Like a bell."

"Major Drake, I formally protest that disgustingly self-serving slander against the team-leaders of this mission."

This betrayal of the followers by she who would lead them draws all my attention, my anger forgotten I allowed my fingers to slip from my weapon. All who have sided against Major Drake professed their support of Lt.VanSickle; he holds many of the same values as the man who had chosen him from the multitudes vying to lead. O'Neill had seen his promise as a leader and then saw more, for he chose him as his Son of the Heart. My Warrior Brother chose well, for here is proof that he and his chosen shares a most unusual trait in common, an ability to enlist an enemy's help in one's own cause. For in the beginning all were against O'Neill's choice of leader.

"How...!"

"Yeah, how dare you debase so natural a relationship as those two are building? Maybe it's you who has those kinds of thoughts."

"The only perversion here is in your head!"

O'Neill had feared that Lt.VanSickle would not yet have the strength needed to fight to maintain his command against this most vocal dissident and the distrust of the others, he hoped that his presence would forestall such a struggle. He will be pleased to know that his concern had been unwarranted in this regard. This revelation is most heartening, yet I cannot allow this contest of wills to continue. Now is the time to act.

"Enough!"

"Who give you the right to order anyone," MajorDrake spat at me, hauteur openly displayed.

She is fortunate that I am no longer a Jaffa under a false god; she would have suffered more than death under my hand for her show of contempt. My very station would have demanded it. Even under the ways of the Tau'ri she would suffer, not physically, but a reduction of status could be just as painful, a Jaffa would die before suffering that. This ha'shak will discover that there is one of higher status among those she wishes to command. I answer her.

"Hammond of Texas."

"And who the hell is that?"

A title honored on many worlds, contained in warrior songs among my own people and well know by all under O'Neill's command, Major Drake knows not of it, I endeavor to translate into words for simple understanding.

"Major General George S. Hammond. I speak and act in _his_ name."

"You can't..."

"Do not tempt me," deliberately grasping my weapon most openly, as subtly seems to elude her. My open action causes her eyes to widen in alarm, affording me a degree of satisfaction.

"I..."

"You will cease," I barked and stepped forward, my action telling my intent, now I see fear within those eyes, if not upon her face. I lock my narrowed gaze onto her, letting her see that I will not tolerate her lies, nor her disrespect any longer. "You have a purpose here?"

"If you mean 'a job,' yes."

"Then go about it -- silently. You have no status here; only O'Neill or GeneralHammond can override this command. Do you understand?"

"No..."

My eyes rake the group ranged around us and speak again.

"Is there anyone here who does not understand my order?"

With glares and hostile postures the consensus was carried, with only MajorDrake in dissent. Even this ha'shak can see that further defiance is useless. Her submission need not be voiced; it is there for all to see, most pleasing to me, and the others.

"Then leave us, you have no authority over anyone until relieved of your task."

And with that declaration I assumed command. Hammond of Texas is wise, he had known that this might happen and had given me the tools to combat it. O'Neill followed him, as I followed O'Neill. It is only right that I now restored the power I now held to those who by right of blood and pain wield it most effectively.

"Where is O'Neill?"

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

'Oh God, No.'

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I won't let it happen. Panic. I feel it taking hold. No, no way in Hell!

Iron Horse's lips were turning blue, her arm limp, as if boneless. Her whole body a rag doll, shaken by a rottweiler. Sometimes you have to kill dogs like that to get them to let go. Where does a thought like that come from? How can I compare this compassionate, caring man to a vicious dog? Because he sees himself that way, because he's capable of _being_ that way -- that's why. He explained. He reacts. He can't always control it. It's too fast to control. And I wanted that!

I wish I'd never hear of it, seen it. That it even existed!

Crawling over the one-armed rag doll I straddle the Stokes awkwardly. It's too wide. Planting a knee painfully on the edge, I'm careful of the broken body it holds. Using both hands I pulled against that steel bar arm, and Jack pulled even harder in response. Damn, he couldn't have stay paralyzed! Guilty shock rolls though me. Just where do these thoughts come from?

Going nose to nose with him I try to get him to focus on me.

"Sir? Please. Let go. Jack, it's me, Eric. Please, please. You have to let go. You're killing her. Colonel O'Neill... Sir?"

My left hand cradles a stubbled jaw, patting softly. Crap! I have got to stop him. Screwing up my resolve I dig my fingers into the nape of his neck trying to wrench his face towards me. Just as I achieve some success he closes his eyes denying me that avenue of appeal. Shit.

It's my strong hand, strong fingers with which to grip short-silvered hair. A strong arm to pull back that head, I strain, but the angle is bad, the Colonel just curls into that neck. A heartbeat throbs in that slender neck next to his cheek, a throb that will still if I don't stop this.

Okay, Eric. If he kills Iron Horse that would be bad, for everyone, that's the problem. Solve it! But, he's not listening; he has no idea what he's doing. You HAVE to stop him. And to stop him you'll have to hurt him, and that is going to be better than if he kills her. Damn.

Pushing a knee up, I peg it against Jack's elbow, pinning it down by leaning my body weight into it. Taking a few deep breathes I begin digging my fingers down between his arm and her neck. My strong hand helps place the weak one. That little miracle of feeling reacts to the heat between the two combatants. I wished it had never returned, that I couldn't feel anything at all. Anywhere.

With my weak fingers placed I start digging in with the strong ones and I pull.

Thinking about how I've got to be hurting him, anger grows. Why? Why am I always in this kind of position? Hurt by or hurting someone I care for. What is wrong with me?

That anger burns through my blood, pushing my muscles beyond, powering them to new heights. I put my back into the effort.

Grunting and straining. To exist is to pull, the world disappears and I am the pull. Arrrg.

'Please.'

Feeling the crack of breaking bone, its sound drowned by Jack's scream of "CHARLIEEEEeeeee," his body went limp and had me scrambling away, horrified, causing me to tumble off the now unlocked bodies, onto the stone floor.

Stunned. This is not the way to learn what a word means. It should be something softly studied in safety, surrounded by books and quite people. Not laying on an alien floor, on a planet whose star can't be seen from the planet of one's birth. Not in pain, physical or mental. Not crying in regret at having just broken the arm of a man whom you respect, who you craved love from. Fatherly love and guidance. Something he seemed willing to give. Something I may have just lost. Something I'm not worthy of -- now.

Crap Eric, get a grip!

Iron Horse. You bitch!

Painfully I rolled onto my side, rising to my knees and lay ungentle hands onto the object of that hateful epithet. I jerked her free of my commander, a friend now I'm sure was lost to me. Regret gave me a brutal uncaring strength; blind hate had me kicking out at her still form, uncaring of where I struck or the damaging hardness of my boots. Burning anger and hate allowed the reptile to reign; its impacts pushed the object of hate beyond reach, almost as beyond as my reason was. Falling back to the floor I pounded it with clenched fists and kicked like a child, the pain calming, real. Just as real as the pain I had just caused.

Reason told me the histrionics were my avoidance of providing care for the person I'd just hurt. Delaying assessing the damage I created. For both of us. Dismissing my own pain as my just desert I required more punishment, anything to drown the feeling of my fingers bruising his flesh. I crawled to Colonel O'Neill, his first name now forbidden to me by my own conscience.

Fingers spread before my eyes, I knelt before the Stokes and partially blocking the sight of my efforts I focused on my hands. Dare I touch him again, with these tools of pain, with my cruel thoughts still so raw? Yes! I have lost him, but not what he stands for. My penance for this horror will be to live to his ideals, to exemplify as much as possible what he would wish to see in others. In me. I now have no right to my life my own actions took that. Even doing the right thing has a price. I will pay that price. Gladly.

Forcing my chaotic emotions down I gingerly reached two fingers to the pulse in his throat. Too strong. Too fast. He gulped in air. Even out like a light, he fought with his entire being. He cried out his son's name when I... when I... BROKE his arm.

Say it Eric. You fucking broke his arm. Why don't you look at it!

Cursing my luck to have an eye survive that stupid mistake that started this whole chain of events, I looked.

Long boned, tanned, with an underlying paleness that screamed distress, his arm lay before me. I focused on the little scratches and bruises, until, like an optical illusion, the newest insult to this man emerged. That gracefully long strong forearm wasn't quite straight, wasn't quite as well shaped as before. An ugly lump, red and bludgeoning, clung about midway between wrist and elbow, an elbow that bore a new bruise from my knee.

Sparks in the deepening gray shook me from my held breath at the damage before me and I forced myself to breathe. Disbelieving of my own violence as the red marks from my own fingers appeared before my eye I forced myself into action. Slowly, gently I lifted the limb, intending to straighten it. So absorbed in my own self-made horror I missed the pounding of boots on stone. Louder and louder.

"NO!"

Tears dripping from my face I looked up from the deformed arm that held me like a cobra holds its prey, only to become enthralled by another, more deadly cobra -- a readied zat. My eye skittered past that snake and up the sinuous dark arm that wielded it to have an angry face slam into me. Teal'c! I watched frozen as tiny contractions along that massive arm moved the finger on the trigger, as the face melded from alarmed anger to righteous triumph. My mouth was still forming an 'O,' I wanted to scream 'no.'

A scream I was unable to utter as my body jerked to the impact of weapon's energy, even before the discharge of blue barbed wire tendrils registered as visible, my nerves flashed into choking clouds of agony as those tendrils torn along them and drove me into the dark, the zat's whine harried me.

'no...'

Go to: Chapter Sixteen


	16. Chapter 16

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**Teal'c**

Among those that CaptainEllis and I had encountered was Lt.Wong. It is he that has been caring for O'Neill. His concise words are as rapidly uttered as his steps. He was anxious, worried. He feared for O'Neill. My own grew with each step closer to my warrior brother.

Our passage echoed in the twilight of the ramp. O'Neill lay in the middle level of this rock warren and my guides assured me that it was accessible from an entrance that opened onto our current path. Lt.Wong indicated the desired opening, yet my attention was diverted as a faint cry drifted from it.

"CHARLIEEEEeeeee!"

'O'Neill!' Even this faint and faded, his pain reverberated in that cry. His terror, and mine, lay on my tongue, its foul taste bitter to me. Launching myself toward that dark tunnel I pulled Lt.Wong in behind me, but only for a second. He too, had heard, and sprinted to stay with me. My guide pointed out the correct corridor as twilight flashed to perpetual darkness as we passed from ramp to tunnel. The Tau'ri beside did not hear faint sounds of struggle then relative quiet that my enhanced hearing relayed. Using the strength given by the false god within, I pushed faster, leaving my companions behind. Hand on weapon, I surged forward, fear for my friend at my heels.

Swiftly racing down the long, wide corridor I could feel the increasing warmth and see light spilling from an opening. Foolishly I stopped in that opening, before me, across the room, lay O'Neill, barely recognizable, swaddled in blankets within a rescue basket. Lt.VanSickle knelt on the other side of him facing in my direction, but his attention was on my warrior brother, he was administering to his needs, I was sure. But a dark, slim figure rose at O'Neill's feet, hand raised, and the familiar flat black of a large flashlight held aloft by it. O'Neill's Son of the Heart raised his head and froze at seeing me, just as that figure's hand descended towards his unprotected back.

"No!" Exploded from my lungs.

Pulling, deploying and aiming was a well-practiced move, this threat would not harm one I was sworn to protect. Victory flushed me as I squeezed the trigger, I knew that Lt.VanSickle would be caught in its passing, but better to ache than risk certain injury. Intent on his assailant I was late to see the look of shock upon my warrior brother's chosen. More shock than my appearance would account for. As the shadow dropped harmlessly to the floor, the one I wished to protect tried to speak. Nay, to cry out, a word I could read, if not hear. 'No.' Confusion gripped me.

Gliding across the stone floor of the chamber, zat ready, I surveyed it, hunting for additional targets, yet keeping the first constantly in sight. Behind me I heard Lt.Wong stumble in, then CaptainEllis.

"Ancestors!" Sounding no less vehement than my own outburst upon entering, the second arrival used a more standard Tau'ri term of derision. Swinging around, distrust colored their countenances, and vanished when I waved my weapon in the direction of the shadow. It was CaptainEllis who identified it as one of their group, a certain CaptainIronHorse.

As the others exclaimed over the ramifications of the tableau before us I approached the twitching body of the lieutenant, helplessly sprawled across O'Neill. Stepping over the Stokes, I knelt to gently grip the younger man, easing him up to cradle him within my arms. His eyes sporadically opened and closed, garbled words slipped from grimacing lips. He was in greater pain than I had expected, had experienced.

Carefully I straightened his limbs and listened to his babble, to my shame it was not babble. From his own lips, he told of hurting O'Neill, only no reason was given, again and again he asked my forgiveness, he was distraught and grief-stricken by what he had done. Thinking I had attacked him for the transgression. He begged me to see to O'Neill, to forsake him -- to forgive him.

What had transpired here, I was not sure, but I knew that Lt.VanSickle would never harm O'Neill without good reason. Raking my eyes across the still shadow tossed like flotsam against the wall nearby, I believed he had a very good reason. Part of it lay before me, but I needed to discover the remainder.

"Here, let me take the Lieutenant," Lt.Wong, appeared at my side, holding out compassionate arms for the body I held and I gave the boy up to him, knowing from just the short time in his presence that he held him in high regard and would succor him, protect him. Easily I passed my burden to him, turning my attention to my warrior brother.

O'Neill was in a similar state of consciousness, neither awake nor totally unaware. His dead son's name grunted from clenched jaws, evidence of his pain as he restlessly, jerkily moved his arms and head. A tickle of blood threaded across his neck from an obvious puncture wound at his throbbing exposed veins.

Lt.VanSickle was being well cared for by Lt.Wong, who muttered to the agitated younger man, breathing soft words of O'Neill being safe and cared for, succeeding in quieting an outpouring of self recrimination from his disoriented charge. Clearly the boy avoided looking in my direction. To avoid the sight of O'Neill? Or, of me, whom he still presumed zatted him for his actions? Such inquiries must wait; now, my warrior brother is my first concern.

"Is there water?"

CaptainEllis was quick to provide cloth and water, most perceptive of him. Bathing my friend's face and neck, cleaning off the blood, I felt his heat, his very dryness. With soft touches, in place of words, I slipped water between crusty, cracked lips, forcing him to ease their tightness, blocking his sounds of distress. I did what I would have done with my own son -- I comforted him. Under my hands, his body relaxed. He slipped beyond reason. Hopefully into a place better than I knew he was accustomed to. Fingers slipped to the wound, that had let slip his lifeblood, his heart was strong, steady. There was time still.

"What has happened here?" I asked looking up from my kneeling position next to O'Neill, pinning CaptainEllis with my eyes. He was distressed, I did not accuse.

"I don't know, I wish I did," his tone was sorrowful, eyes slightly wide. He was clearly horrified and confounded by what we found within this chamber. His eyes held compassion for my brother and his chosen, as they shifted from one to the other.

Lt.Wong rose, his charge still and unmoving, and approached.

"Lt. Van Sickle wasn't making much sense, but from what I gather. He was attacked and knocked out. The assailant tried to inject him with a syringe, but Colonel O'Neill pulled that person off him, preventing that from happening. But the Colonel seemed bent on choking the life from them. The Lieutenant had to use force to save that creature's life." He indicated the unconscious woman lying unbound on the floor. "He broke the Colonel's arm in the process. The he saw you and he believed you zatted him for hurting O'Neill. I've never seen anyone zatted before, but have studied the aftermath of it. The lieutenant's reaction is not typical. He's still in pain."

"Look, there's a syringe on the floor," Captain Ellis, moved towards it, careful not to touch. "Maybe we should, well... bag it?"

"Excellent idea Monty, evidence," answered Lt.Wong, who rose, retrieved a specimen bag and rubber gloves, and did just that. I waved him over; I wished to see this coward's weapon.

"You will need an additional bag," I stated to him and pointed out an additional syringe, in the shadow of the Stokes, an empty one, unlike the bagged one, the one that must have been meant for Lt.VanSickle. This shadow had emptied the contents of this into my warrior brother, explaining the wound he bore. Rising I approached the shadow, toeing her over roughly.

"Rope."

As Lt.Wong retrieved the syringe, 'Monty' scrabbled for something with which to bind the shadow. Returning with parachute cord, favored by O'Neill for its many purposes, I knelt to the task with great satisfaction. Multiple wraps at ankles and knees, elbow and wrist; further binding the single arm behind her back and closely tethered it to the wraps at her knees. This shadow would not move. I left her upon her face in the dust as befitted the unworthy.

Returning to O'Neill I observed that Lt.Wong was in the process of checking his status.

"O'Neill?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he may have been injected with more morphine. From first glance, a dose is missing. As for the other syringe, it's color is off, probably not morphine. It's anyone's guess. The Colonel has depressed breathing and now deepening unconscious state. I will splint his arm. But he must receive care soon."

"I concur."

"And Lt. Van Sickle?"

"Some rest, though I'm not certain. We'll know soon, he already shows signs of awaking."

"Does he require immediately medical care?"

"No, I'm certain of that, he's in no real danger, just very uncomfortable. He was in an exhausted state when this happened. Rest will cure more than medicine. And perhaps meaningful words."

"Then I shall need help to get O'Neill to the Gate. Words I have at hand."

**Captain Isiah Cochran**

"This isn't going to be much help to me."

My buddy, the Bird Colonel, minced back and forth, compulsively straightening his uniform, finger creasing the creases to even more crease-ly-ness, gettin' that just pressed look he likes to have. He was driving me nuts. I swear ever day since the general's assignment of punishment, he's gotten worse. He really needed to shrink himself.

"Of course, it will. The Colonel's a standup kinda guy. No problemo," I poured on the positive, anything to calm him down, he was wearing a path in that lush carpet of his and I swear if I didn't know better, I'd think he had a crush on the man. Pre-date jitters. Now, if I could _get_ to O'Neill, it was a done deal -- for me, but Mac here, he was gonna have problems. Colonel O'Neill hated his guts. Wouldn't have 'em for garters. Nada, no way, yepper.

"Perhaps not for you. He probably _likes_ you," that statement resulted in yet more compulsive preening, cockatoos had nothing on this guy.

"Me! I can't even get an appointment," I admitted. And why was that? O'Neill had specifically requested my transfer in. Requested! So, why won't he even talk to me?

"That's another difference we have. I can. Not that it would help any."

He had me there, being the head shrink had its advantages, like being able to order the Colonel to show up at an appointment. Bad idea in my opinion, that was sure to piss him off. Better to invite him, offer him something he couldn't get otherwise; like a first hand account of that mess at the old grocery store.

"Hey, it's not that hard, you explain the whole thing, just as it went down. Don't leave out a thing. He can't help but do the right thing. Or is the great Colonel MacKenzie chicken?"

Cluck, cluck. Can't blame him though, O'Neill could kill him deader than a doornail with his pinky. Mac here has just the right temperament to push any man into that kind of action. Good thing I like the wimp or I'd have to kill him myself.

"Was it the right thing? General Hammond had every right to have us locked up at Leavenworth for what we did. But he gave us each a conditional reprimand. Leavenworth would have been easier. Colonel O'Neill will never sign off on its removal and assign punishment. And I believe that the general knew this. I'm sure he doesn't like me either."

Geez! He's doesn't think the general punished us enough! What a glutton.

"Hey, MacKenzie, I got news for ya, I don't think anyone else does either," grinning widely, I swung my foot a bit harder as I slouched on the corner of his on-base office desk. Nice desk too, all cherry, and not the kind that comes off on ya hand. Impressive.

"Thank you. Just when I thought that I couldn't get any more depressed, you opened up whole new depths of despair for me with that statement."

Shit! He looked down in the mouth. I didn't mean to kick him that hard, poor socially deprived pooch.

"Hey, I was kidding. I... well, kinda... maybe... well... I like ya."

"You do."

That perked him right up, in a kinda 'don't quite believe what I'm hearing' way. And, well, I do like the dumb galoot.

"Yeah. Everyone warms up to a kicked puppy, even if it's a three-legged pit bull," I said and smiled hugely, huffing a few guffaws for good measure.

"Ha Ha. Have your fun. I'm sure I'll never be able to convince the man to remove that reprimand from my file. This is the end of my career."

Oops, down in the mouth -- again!

"Hey, I have an idea," jumping down from his desk I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. His eyes kinda rattle, like a cheap doll's.

"Oh, I should transfer, or just resign!"

"Naw. Besides that won't solve the problem. We need to win Full Bird Colonel All-American Hero 'Jack' O'Neill over to our way of thinking, that's all." I push off from him, he wavered a bit and I raised both arms in triumph. We had it made in the shade.

"You are in great need of a good analyst. Here, get comfortable," he pointed to that movie prop of a shrink's leather tufted coach of his. "I'm sure I can arrange a visit to a very special room off base. Basic white?"

Crap, he made a joke. Didn't he?

"Was THAT a joke?" I couldn't keep the big-toothed smile off my face at that. Lord above there was hope for this socially crippled dork. Moving right up to him I swung an arm around his back, gripped his shoulder firmly and rubbed my loose fisted hand, knuckles down, over his head, he ducked down and tried to push me away. Wasn't gonna happen.

"Stop that. What would someone think if we're caught like this," he wailed in a high-pitched voice, still struggling to get away, I held on tight. This poor excuse for a Bird Colonel was gonna get all the brotherly love he could stand, and then some.

"Like they don't already think we're gay now?" I laughed, letting him loose. He jumped away and glared at me. I laughed even harder. He gave me a funny look and then turned to a small ornate, decorative mirror, revealing it's true vain purpose in his office. He checked himself. Bet he did that every time he stood up from that desk. Patting his hair with a hand he erupted into the most unmanly giggles I'd ever heard. Well, at least since I left second grade and my voice changed. He turned to look at me, I patted my head and he laughed harder. He looked almost human with mussed hair and we both laughed for a few minutes until we were reduced to the occasional hiccupping snort.

"What did you have in mind," he wheezed out once he could breath well enough to talk.

"Simple. Kill 'em with kindness."

**Teal'c**

O'Neill has oft times explained 'hunch' to me, describing it as a feeling of rightness, of properness, of need. It was not proper that these two, who have sought each other out should be so separated by any distance. I could feel their need to be close, this 'feeling' caused me to suggest to Lt.Wong and CaptainEllis that perhaps, before they left to seek transport, that watching over them would be simpler if they were closer to one another. They were agreeable and it was only the work of mere moments, yet it lifted the weight of the overbearing alien stone from my soul when each was close enough to feel the heat of the other.

After the others had left, I sat with my back to the entrance; confident that I would hear any approach long before it could be a threat. Resting my crossed arms upon my raised knees, I sought to warm myself, or perhaps my inner self. To see O'Neill and his Son of the Heart like this chilled my heart with sorrow. Concentrating my attention upon my commander and friend, I watched as he fidgeted in distress. He was fearful; a strange state for one who does not frighten easily and wondered what demons possessed him to bring him to such a state.

In contrast to my friend's restlessness his chosen lay preternaturally still, his young face tilted towards me. How like a child. Precious and so easily lost, I saw O'Neill in him. He too can appear innocent when unaware, though we both know that is impossible, his innocence sacrificed on the altar of honor as mine was on the altar of my false god. He was innocent once, as perhaps I had been.

"Charlie..."

The hoarse whisper draws me to glazed, unguarded amber eyes; he can be so guileless and vulnerable when injured, and it shocks me. This name he breathed, I knew, and the tragic memories it invoked. Many times, O'Neill has visited that certain inner field of agony, adding new furrows of anguish with each remembrance. Experience leads me to not react to his seeking of his dead son, but to attempt to steer him from such thoughts. To distract, not deny.

"All is well. Rest."

"Charl..."

His restlessness stills once he catches sight of Lt.VanSickle, I watched as O'Neill's hand stole over the edge of the Stokes to rest on the lieutenant's hair, he sighed as he closed he eyes, his breath slowed, he slept, but the hand remained and occasionally his fingers stroked though the dark strands. He knew where the child was, that was all he really needed to know. His fear now gone.

Seldom is my life-hardened heart pricked by such pain as this scene causes. How one such as I, who has brought death to perhaps thousands, can have a living son. Yet this man, one whom I hold above all others, who has saved millions, lives daily with the loss of one and believes it to be his fault, worse to see it nearly repeated with his chosen. There will be a reckoning for this very deliberate pain caused to them both, I will see personally to that. Even forsaking the new ways that O'Neill represents, jeopardizing the future of my people if that must be, no one shall walk from this unpunished. I swear on the blood of my warrior brother, blood he and I have shed in joined battle with those who would follow false gods. We are more than brothers of commingled blood; we have dipped gory hands into each other's very souls. Nothing can separate us, not even death.

Dropping my knees, I assumed the cross-legged posture of Kelno'reem and entered it lightly. Using it to gather my strength, to contemplate the situation and guard my brothers. Many minutes passed before the younger finally stirred, he was very late to awaken, which concerned me. To accidentally have harmed him beyond that which I intended weighed heavily on my heart. One should never be required to harm a friend, but both he and I have done so.

Swiftly I rose to my knees to retrieve O'Neill's now lax arm, laying it under the warm covering over him before reaching out to touch the younger man's shoulder. My touch drew him to himself, an eye blinked at me uncomprehending. An indrawn breath and the clenching shut of his eyes told me he recognized me and thus remembered the last time he saw me.

'Forgive me. Oh dear God, forgive me."

Words so faint that only I would have heard them, even O'Neill, who could have reached out to touch that pale shocked face, would not have heard those horrified words. And for that I was grateful.

Not speaking, I watched as O'Neill's young warrior rolled up onto a hip, pushed with his hands against sleeping pallet to raise his shoulders from the floor, pulling in his legs to support him. His eye opened and lit on his commander, only to shake his head, avert his sight and push himself away and kept pushing until he met the cold stone at his back, yet still he pushed. Showing his unwillingness to submit to even a physical barrier, one he would never overcome. Yet he tried. Fear had found a new vessel within this cold chamber.

"Lt.VanSickle what do you fear?"

"You. Me. Her." He waved at the trussed unconscious shadow still carelessly tossed against the wall. "You zatted me," he whispered, arms wrapping around him as he lay his cheek against the hard stone, hiding the eye that could see.

"Yes I did, but not for the reason you believe."

"No, I'm sure I have the right reason, I saw it in your face."

"You saw my anger that one I would protect was threatened, and my pleasure at ending that threat."

"Me."

"As O'Neill would say, 'the operative word is threat,' I am most precise in the words I chose."

The young man paused to consider my words, taking many minutes before glancing at me. The living green of that one eye encompassed such deep pain and self-recrimination, emotions I have learned to recognize in two amber eyes over the years. Could I see a spark of hope in their green depths?

"You said 'threat,' not 'harm?' "

"Indeed."

"I'm confused, I was the only threat here."

"You were not." Deliberately I pointed at the shadow. "_That_ was the threat. Not to O'Neill -- but to _you_."

"Me? But you zatted me?"

"The shadow was very close. I regret it was not possible to exclude you," I bowed my head in apology to him, holding my eyes downcast until he considered my words and spoke his thoughts.

"You could have said something instead."

His voice was not the only sound, his movement to fully face me produced the rustle of coarse tough cloth and I raised my eyes to his and softly smiled my explanation.

"There was little time and it was a very large flashlight."

"Oh," he glanced aside at the almost weapon. "It is kinda heavy. But it doesn't absolve me of what I've done," dejection rang in his last words as he slumped against the wall at his back in defeat.

"You saved O'Neill from killing by accident."

As was wont with passionate youths, his defeat ignited into hot anger at my statement; he stiffened and became colder than the stone around us.

"Don't you understand? I BROKE HIS ARM!"

At that shout of pain, he shot to his feet, rushing for the corridor. I must prevent him from running, once started, he would believe it to be a viable tactic in future. One that I pray is purged from O'Neill one day. Emotions cannot be outrun.

"No. Listen. You shame yourself needlessly. You have done no wrong. If you had not acted as you did, I would have zatted you, calling you cur for not holding O'Neill back from killing, an act against his nature, but not his instincts to protect. _That_ would have shamed you."

He slumped against the portal, using it to support him, dropping his head. A tremor coursed though him. Silence, not even his ragged breathing could be heard. Does he hold his breath?

"Teal'c, will I ever be as wise as you?"

Those words, so deflective, so much like my warrior brother, bought a smile to my face. He will not run again, he had no need.

"Why ask for what you now possess?"

Tensing, he straightened, building that mask that O'Neill carries like armor, this young warrior learns from only the best. He turned and walked back to me, I grasped his arm in a warrior's greeting, his fiery green eye, a reminder of the hurdle he daily traverses, looked deeply into mine. Opening the gates to my soul I allowed him to see the rightness of his act and my sincere regret that my actions caused him to think otherwise. Slowly his taut body relaxed and my smile was echoed, ghostlike, upon his pale feature. O'Neill's dark-haired warrior stood before me ready to do battle. Determination marked his very bearing. O'Neill will be proud, as am I.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

"Sorry. Sorry."

Offering apologies in my wake I rebounded off the hallway wall and slewed around the corner.

The claxons still beat that blood pumping rhythm that made my heart skip beats as I raced for the Control Room. An airman caught my arm when I slipped on the last step up into the back of the room, he held on while my eyes adjusted to the gloom.

"Sergeant, report!"

KAWOOOSH!

The general's echoing voice was drowned by the Gate's roar as the room filled with blue metallic light, momentarily blinding me. Shaking off my help, I pushed into the forest of silhouettes, only to bump into someone else, who then latched onto me; I seemed to be forever being supported by someone.

"Daniel!"

"Sam! How'd you get here so fast?"

"Luck, I was in the Briefing Room when it started," her fingers bit into my elbow as she steered me towards the windows, keeping me upright when I struggled over something unseen, a chair perhaps. I'm not a klutz, honest, I just wasn't looking were I was going, my eyes glued to that field of shimmering blue. Where news of Jack might be had would come from there.

"Sir, it's SG-1's IDC code," quietly utters Sgt. Davis, his face surreally colored.

"Open the Iris, Son," General Hammond's relief could be heard in his words, but also something else.

The same 'something else' I felt -- dread. Where Jack is concerned nothing is every easy -- on him. We were about to find out what had happened, why the Gate had been underwater. All the answers -- all the tragedies.

Reminding myself to breath, I concentrated on the Gate, it took a few moments to realize that a FRED was emerging from it. 'Stokes' popped into my head just as the general's request for a medical team to the Gate Room blared over the speaker system. A rescue basket, complete with person, was secured to the four-wheeled conveyance. Teal'c stepped though behind it, bellowing for a medical team. Then... then, I knew -- it was Jack.

Sam's own shock of recognition was a sharply said, "Colonel," in an alarmed voice as she released her grip on my arm, I spun and blindly sought the stairs, it wasn't until I had lengthened my stride in the broad hallway before the blast doors that I head her boot clad feet close on my heels. Barely missing colliding with the wall I slithered though the slowly widening gap as the metal barricade retracted into the wall and raced into the cavernous space. Across the room a medical team emerged from the opposite blast door, surrounding the FRED before I could travel my greater distance to my injured friend. Large powerful hands snatched me from my flight, stopping me, forcing me to struggle against them.

"DanielJackson. MajorCarter."

Teal'c, it was Teal'c. His quiet acknowledgement of our presence calmed me; seeking his face I saw the mask he used when any of us were injured. Twisting in his grasp I looked in the direction of the Stokes, all I saw was a crowd of backs which, like a centipede moved back though the now gaping entrance they had entered though, leaving a denuded FRED. Pushing down the devastation that ignited in the pit of my stomach I shook off Teal'c's now loosened hold on me.

"Teal'c, my office please," General Hammond's amplified voice loud and raspy in the sudden stillness.

Was I the only living soul here? Out of more than a dozen others present here, was I the only one that felt this overwhelming crush to know, to see -- to touch Jack.

"Daniel," wrenching my eyes to Sam, I could see she felt it too. I wasn't alone. "Go, be with the Colonel, I'm going with Teal'c."

Words were unnecessary, I knew she felt horrible staying, but her loyalty to Jack forced her to stay and discover the military part of this apparent disaster, turning I fled after the centipede.

XXX

"Daniel?"

Warm fingers squeezed my shoulder, making me jump a little. It was a familiar slim, firm hand, and that same hand could calibrate the most delicate instrument or drop a Jaffa in their tracks. Sam. She slid down the wall to sit at my side, I didn't bother to lift my face from my folded arms, she's so close I can feel and hear her draw her legs up to her chest, keeping them from blocking the entrance to the Infirmary. We were like bookends here, waiting for our dented book.

"Have you heard anything?"

She asked me, I knew she was looking at me, studying me, I shook my head; she was concerned about _me_, but I knew she was terrified for Jack. Her voice was too cool, too precise; she was in that military mode that she and Jack could adopt in the blink of an eye, the one that so irritated me from time to time. The one that both would snap on when they got too close, cared too much -- to and for each other. My heart ached when they did that, too many moments could be their last, and they played this game of pretend.

"Teal'c says his back may be broken."

Her words hit me like a dry wind, one that sucked the life from any creature it touched. Tightening my arms around my knees, I buried my face deeper into my arms to fight the shudder that passed though me. Damn! This could be one of those last moments; for Sam, for Jack, and... for me. Unlike Sam I was free to express my admiration, my love to the man, not the kind of love they should be professing to one another, but love just the same. Losing Sha're nearly destroyed me, I survived thanks to Jack and I would survive losing him in turn. But it would be hard, very hard, but for him I would do it. He wanted me to live, so I would. How much harder would it be for her? I think it would be very hard for her. Maybe too hard.

"How?" I whispered, not moving, wishing this was all a nightmare and I'd wake up.

"He was caught in a flood. In that canyon on the planet, they had to go find him and lift him out of it. They brought him back almost two days ago and couldn't dial out."

Jack may have prophesied this, that one evening, when I stayed after my watch, into his, keeping him company. It was one of those rare times he dropped that 'dumb as a board' act and talked in excited tones about the geology around us. I knew his love of the stars, and I guess geology would be a natural extension of that, but he knew so much, far more than I'd thought would interest him. Oh sure he had to know some; he read all the reports, including the geology surveys for each mission, and acquiring rare metals, like Naquadah was one of our standing mission goals. He talked about the type of flood a canyon that narrow could experience, commenting that boulders the size of trucks would act more like Styrofoam than stone in the rushing water of such a flood.

"Oh."

"It gets worse." Sam's quiet voice didn't even waver. Pretending.

How could it be any worse? Jack pulled into a frothing maelstrom full of truck-sized boulders, fighting to avoid being crushed and unable to move now because he didn't quite make out in one piece. It couldn't get any worse. Could it?

"Worse?"

"He was attacked."

"Attacked, by whom? Is that why he got caught in the flood?" This time I looked at her, this time I projected my voice. Is this how he wound up in that canyon, did someone push him? Teal'c is not going to be happy if that's the case. Maybe I should have gone back with him?

"No, after. Daniel, he was attacked right there where everyone thought he was safe. She was a member of the team. He was strapped into that rescue basket; he'd just been given a morphine injection. He was helpless, and... and..."

Her distress cracked that military pretense of hers and brought me out of that selfish tight little ball of self-protection. Reaching out with my arm I draped it across her back, cupping her far shoulder in my hand, pulled her close and leaned in, giving her contact and comfort all in one. She huffed a shuddering breath. This was hard on her. This was always hard on her. She hated to see people injured or suffering, like her mother had. Her mother's death colored every event like this. She had been shown at a tender, impressionable age that death was the result of illness and even her staggering intellect couldn't convince her that maybe, just maybe, the outcome could be different.

"Teal'c's already back on the planet, with some SFs to retrieve the woman," Sam concluded in a more controlled voice, but she didn't move away, her need that great. She relaxed against me, accepting my comfort for once.

"A woman attacked Jack?"

"Yes. Teal'c believes she held him down and injected him with an additional dose of morphine."

"Held him down, in that condition, that... that was..."

My mind stalled, he was helpless. What could he have done? Cruelty was something I still couldn't understand, even after all I've seen and experienced.

"Brutal?"

"Yes... yes, " my voice trailed off to a whisper. It was -- brutal, something of a ruthless nature, uncaring, unfeeling and precise. She took my best friend and reduced him to nothing with precision; she ruthlessly and uncaringly held him down and tried to harm him. Where were the people who did care about Jack? "Where was Eric?"

"Out cold."

"That's how she could get to Jack, she took care of Eric first."

"Yes, but after injecting the Colonel she tried to do the same to the lieutenant, only somehow the Colonel pulled the woman off of him, nearly strangled her."

"He used his arms... then his back can't be broken," I squeezed her hard and smiled. This was good news, the best yet. Jack would be okay, he'd...

"Daniel, that depends on where the break was, his arms may work, that doesn't mean his legs will."

"Oh..." My fledgling elation plummeted. Sternly I reminded myself that it WAS good news. He could move his arms and... Wait, I don't recall seeing Eric? "Is Eric alright?" That question caused a new terror to grip me; Jack wouldn't take the kid being injured very well. Darn, I hope his absence here was a good sign.

"Yes and no."

"I don't understand?"

"He broke the Colonel's arm."

"What! Why..."

"The Colonel was out of it, he only saw that woman hurting someone, and he wouldn't let go. Eric was forced to break his arm to prevent him from killing her."

Jack is stubbornly singled minded; protection of those he trusts and loves is one of his highest duties. I could see him, confused, hurt and determined to end such a threat, a permanent solution would be uppermost in his mind, knowing his limitations, he would go for the kill. It's not a personal choice, just sound military strategy, my friend abhors killing, even if necessary. He has always been a reluctant soldier in that regard. And to think the noble ambition of flying for the pure joy of it lead him into covert operations, where they discovered he was good at killing.

That blackened Jack's soul, though not entirely, a golden incorrigible core will always remain, despite what he believes. And now Eric is being pulled down a similar road, and Jack will blame himself for the darkness that will tarnish his soul in turn. After many attempts to convince him otherwise, Jack still believes his own soul is condemned to the fires of Hell. He'll be in for a rude shock when he finds himself staring at those pearly gates. The thought lightens my heart just a tiny bit; I just hope he doesn't have the opportunity to quip about those gates quite yet; his friends still have to prepare him for that shock.

"Not the best of solutions, but preferable to the alternative. We're going to have a problem with both of them over this won't we?"

"Yes, I believe so. Teal'c intends to speak to them."

"Jack respects him, he'll listen. Can't say that he'll do more than that, but he'll hear Teal'c out."

"Daniel..."

"Yes?"

"You realize the Colonel might not make it and if he does, they'll be forced to retire him."

"I'm trying not to think about that. Better he never wakes up than be retired like that."

"You don't think the Colonel would be able to cope."

"Sam, think about it. Remember every instant he's forced to recover. Told not to move. Remember Antarctica, when that other doctor sedated him without his permission?"

"Yes, Janet tore into him but good."

"Sam, Jack was making everyone nuts and succeeded in hurting himself more than once. Later, I discovered what that doctor did was normal and Jack should have been moved to the psych ward and tied down until he was willing to do as his doctors told him."

"You don't suppose..."

"I'm pretty certain that's what the military doctors did to Jack after he escaped Iraq."

Visions of an emaciated, younger Jack struggling against pristine padded restraints, pinning him to crisp white sheets in a clean, airy room, being attended by sterile minded nurses muddied my thoughts. He must have believed he had gone insane. Didn't he just escape from those who had practiced total uncaring power over his body? He must have been terrified.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. He'd be a prisoner again."

"With no hope. He can't live without hope."

**Teal'c**

My arrival on PBX 123 was accomplished in but a step, far less effort than I had expended earlier in this day. Before me the on-world team was within sight, most with hands on weapons or communication devices. Weary. I nodded in approval; caution allows one to live longer.

Small groups toiled over the vast expanse, offering no central target if surprised, to my left Sgt. MacDowell stood from her undetected hiding place behind the two drowned MALPs. I surmised she must have been checking the units when the Chaapa'ai activated. Everyone was busy, a harmonious team working toward a common goal, the visible pride of a good leader.

Stepping down from the stone platform I heard the distinct sounds of the SF's exiting the Chaapa'ai behind me. The rustle of cloth, creak of leather and the almost inaudible sound of weapons slicing arcs though the air as they swept the area for threats, soon settling into a relaxed stance, too relaxed. Yet, one was vigilante, one still sought what the others no longer looked for. He, I would mark, attentive ones were hard to find, even among the Tau'ri. I would speak to O'Neill on his behalf, there were many teams needing new members.

Lt.VanSickle was the first my eyes sought, yet the last found. Only when he rose to his full height did I find him, he stood beside the opening that I had nearly fallen afoul of on my last, so recent, visit.

"Sgt.Plymouth, please take your men there," I pointed out the dark slot of the Ramp, "I shall join you shortly."

His acknowledgement came as I strode forward towards the on-world team's leader, O'Neill's young warrior -- his Las'la, Chosen.

This young leader has done his foster-sire proud, he stands, easily giving direction to the efforts around us, yet watches my approach. Much as the SF that had not relaxed, he was vigilante Fatigue hung as a pall over his features, he appeared somewhat bedraggled, still clothed in the soiled garments from before. He has not spared himself, driving to achieve his goal. I felt regretful that he remained here rather than return to the SGC to rest, he was not fully recovered when he arrived and I am certain that he will not rest until relieved of his command here. Something I do not foresee until O'Neill himself can do so. Hammond of Texas will wait, out of respect, rather than suborn my warrior brother's command.

Those teammates nearest him show concern; he has no doubt driven himself far beyond what is necessary. Stopping I offer a salute in respect for his obvious efforts, fisted hand to chest, dipping my gaze to the ground before fastening unto his green eye, finding it dulled.

"You are well?"

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Neither of us offers the clear negative our answers would give. A pained expression passes over the Las'la's face; he had hoped to hear of O'Neill, yet I left before any news was given. That was regretful, but my honor pushed me back to retrieve the shadow, a clear threat to his young warrior. My fondest wish at the moment was return him to the SGC rather than the prisoner, to see him cared for would be as if caring for O'Neill himself, something I had not the skill for, leaving my warrior brother in safe hands of DoctorFrasier.

"I have come for CaptainIronHorse."

He nodded his understanding, turning aside to speak to another.

"Captain Ellis, would you guide the SFs to the Captain, and please retrieve the laptop also."

"Gladly, Sir. Be right back," my former guide limped off toward Sgt.Plymouth.

"His limp increases."

"Can't get him to rest, he's become a leech since you left. They've all become leeches," a sigh only I could hear rasped from his clenched teeth.

"They worry for you. They will rest when you do. Sometimes it is necessary to lead by example."

He laughs, strain laced the amusement; I had not expected so open a reaction. O'Neill -- I had expected him to react as O'Neill would, he is Las'la, he is different, through inattention I had given him an equality, dismissed his own uniqueness, I felt trepidation at my lapse. Assuming a reaction is lying to one's self, death waits at the end of that path.

To see more of Lt.VanSickle's uniqueness I lead him into conversation, requesting the status of his mission. Asking what transpired here within the Gate Canyon. He spoke at length, his thoughts clear and concise, belying his appearance of near collapse. His sudden attention, gaze fixed beyond me, heralded the arrival of the prisoner.

"I must leave."

"Can you get word to me?"

"On my honor."

Inclining my head I pivoted and strode towards the Chaapa'ai. The Las'la's haunted expression and pleading deep within his eye crystallized my resolve that he shall have word as swiftly as I could force it in his direction.

CaptainEllis and I arrived at the stone platform simultaneously. Sgt.Plymouth's SFs dialed the gate, while the man himself stood on the opposite side, alone, a large hand clamped to the one arm of the shadow. They had brought special restraints for this one, but I had not heard of the intent to gag the woman. Yet, somehow it comforted me. Shadows should have no voices.

Once the connection was established the SFs and prisoner departed, I lingered awaiting the presentation of the laptop. The lieutenant had given no explanation and none had yet been offered by CaptainEllis. As the last SF disappeared, my companion spoke.

"This is all the information we have on the site and Eric's report on what happened. He spent most of the time you were gone on it, he'd just joined us when the Gate activated. Is there word on the Colonel?"

"No," I accepted the proffered machine, tucking it securely under my arm. "I have promised him word when I have it," I let my eyes indicate of whom I spoke, the captain nodded his understanding. My eyes lingered upon the Las'la. Somehow I communicated my concern.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of him," CaptainEllis tapped his watch. "Not much light left, and dawn is only detectable by a watch in the tunnels. He's gonna have his misplaced."

"Indeed," I smiled my approval, receiving a defiant smirk in return before I strode though the Chaapa'ai.

I would return.

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

There was a casualty coming in, from where or who it was -- I didn't know. All I knew was that there had been an unscheduled activation of the Stargate. It could be any number of worlds where we had teams. Nervously I checked the triage area, my staff was as efficient as always, everything in place and ready for use.

It was silent here, no patients, but I could hear the thud of feet coming from the elevators, the sound grew into an avalanche of noise culminating in a crash as the door burst open, startling me. An occupied Stokes flashed by me, my team already doing what was needed, Leaven stopped to brief me. Listening I watched as a man was lifted on the Stokes' detachable backboard and log rolled expertly unto the gurney.

Colonel O'Neill.

Pushing my personal concern down, I watched Leaven read from a sheet of paper detailing the patient's condition. Just for a moment I though of them as instructions, as if the Colonel were a bicycle that needed assembly at Christmas, shaking free the insane image I fought to remain detached

Back injury, possible morphine overdose. A dose of injectable delivered by syringe when a member of the survey team had attacked him. I ordered the syringe run down to the lab for confirmation of morphine. There was a second syringe, but dismissed it for the moment, it wasn't part of this. Glancing at my patient I observed the tremors, actually small localized seizures, as they rippled across one side of the exposure burned and bruised face. One bared, freed arm already had IV fluids pumping into his veins, as another nurse prepared a multi-port in the other arm.

"Pupils myopic and sluggish."

"Ma'am, respirations shallow and 30."

Not good, I stepped in and helped to strip the uniform off of him. His body was covered in bruises and scratches. Exposure was evident over his hands, face and neck. His entire body was covered in sand and dirt. Hands methodically, gently cleaned, revealing a total body flush. One of the male nurses cut off his boots revealing water wrinkled, well formed, narrow feet. Probably the only part of him that was undamaged.

Every move was calculated, not jarring the unconscious object of our work. Leaven had told me of the loss of motor function in legs and arms, later a recovery of function in the arms. The legs remained the same it seemed, no reports of movement there. His paralysis was secondary, but we mustn't lose sight of it. We had to insure that the patient wouldn't die before we had time to deal with a possible broken back or spinal injury.

"Respirations shallow and 25."

"BP is rising."

My hands and eyes toured the nude battered body before me, leads appeared across his chest as if by magic, the medical music began.

Beep beep beep beep ---- beep.

"Where are the lab results on the syringe?"

"On it's way."

"Tell them to do a street test, I just want confirmation we're dealing with morphine."

"Tremors are generalizing." "Irregular heart beat." "Breaths erratic and hesitant."

Colonel, don't do this.

"Get a vent in here. Prep to intubate. Someone GO to the lab -- NOW!"

Go to: Chapter Seventeen


	17. Chapter 17

A Little Deadly: Aftermath by JoleneB

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**Dr Janet Frasier**

The doors of the Infirmary banged loudly as Terry Bledsoe sprinted for the lab. I knew she would stand over anyone and everyone until she received the information I requested -- needed. And, she wouldn't trust the phone; she would bring back the answer herself, to insure that it was understood; not instantaneous, but extremely sure. She'd saved lives this way before, leaving a civilian hospital to join the Air Force, determined to buck convention. Here, we appreciated the motives behind her actions and the SGC was her perfect niche.

Leaven too, was one of those special imports, always providing every possible detail of a case in his care. And just like that he's already gone, re-supplying his packs; our medics never knew when they would be required. And prepping to go again he considered his first priority, even before himself. Dedication like that saved lives.

Without saying a word, Gino Lambert showed his dedication as he handled the Colonel's failing efforts to breathe, using a portable bag and O2 to deepen and maximize the shallow inhales, checking his success via ECG/Sat monitor. Since there were no shrill alarm from it, blood oxygen levels were still good. Gino's was a more personal dedication, he claims the Colonel saved his hide once, I don't know if he means here or elsewhere, he's never spoken of it. But I bet it's one riveting tale. The confusing part is that this 'personal dedication' is afforded every person under his care, not just our favorite colonel.

Tearing my eyes from those competent hands, slowly crushing the bag, giving life saving oxygen, I knew intubation would be the logical next step, but a nearly impossible one. Inserting the airway while the Colonel exhibited so much movement, which increased every second, would be too dangerous.

Even when a patient isn't in the throes of such involuntary movement, we provide a sedative and paralytic. Pushing metal and plastic down someone's throat is risky. Using the normal, short-term drugs for the procedure would suffice, but I knew that the seizures would soon return, and they would be even more life threatening while intubated.

There are many drugs available for involuntary movement; Diazepam or Valium is too mild to control such violent spasms for long, or completely. And Dilantin, which is stronger, has an unwanted side effect; it will enhance the depressive properties of the morphine. I don't want to compound his already compromised breathing. I needed something stronger, his whole body was now involved, and I'll have to opt for one of the anesthetic class drugs, an anticonvulsant. But was morphine the only drug in currently in his system? If there was something else there...

The doors crashed open once more, splitting my attention yet again.

"Morphine, it's morphine!"

Terry's welcome words rang in my ear as I once again ran though my options with this more solid information. All of his symptoms screamed morphine overdose, but I had needed to be sure. He'd been in its grip too long; mistakes now could be fatal.

"Contamination?" I yelled as I willed my team to greater speed as they positioned the ventilator and prepped for intubation. The laryngoscope's blade shone in the bright lights, a giant among the smaller, duller instruments we had need of.

"None." A muttered 'sorry' followed, not meant to be heard, but my senses were straining for every sound the man before might make, she wouldn't make that mistake again, she would see to that. I knew the second syringe was suspected as being something different and I needed to know that the one empted into the Colonel wasn't laced with something nasty that could derail my treatment. Even an off the shelf, anyone can do it; street test can tell purity, eliminating the possibility of an unknown drug component, a component that might make a life saving decision into a death penalty.

My team and I have worked together long enough that I only needed to nod my assent when the proffered doses of thiopental and pancuronium, a paralytic, when they appeared. I double-checked the dosages, all were appropriate, and these were short-term drugs, used only to facilitate the placement of the endotracheal tube. With such a short window of effectiveness I would need the stronger drugs in place and diffusing into his system, ready to do their job as the short-term drugs wore off. Though thiopental is intended to quiet the patient during intubation, it was also an anesthetic class drug, an anticonvulsant, just what I needed in the long term to stem the seizures.

"I need a drip started, rider it, thiopental at 15 per," I snapped out, my decision made, and heard the swift sure movement as it was prepared, the infusion would become effective just at the injected dose wore off. The Colonel was familiar with this drug in another form -- truth serum. He was a strong man and I needed a strong drug, to calm his abrupt twitching and help combat the inevitable swelling of his brain, a much-needed side effect of my drug of choice. More importantly it would allow us to provide better support of his deepening inability to breath on his own.

With a critical eye I studied my friend, the seizures had progressed from subtle twitches across his face to uncoordinated jerking of random single muscles across his body. Soon groups of muscles would contract and relax, moving towards the most damaging type of forceful movement. His legs... I smiled; ...his legs were involved in the restless jerking. There was hope; only a viable connection along the spinal cord would allow the brain to involve the lower body in this pseudo-epileptic fit. I found myself stroking the strong sun-browned arm before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Looks like you've already taken care of the hard part Colonel; Relax, we have you now, let us handle the rest."

With a sigh, I straightened and saw that everyone here realized the same hope for his recovery that I had. He wasn't entirely paralyzed; his reported paralysis could very well be temporary. But we all knew that this could be his last hurrah, the last movement he might make for the rest of his life. Each and every one of us was determined to prevent that.

Only seconds had transpired while the team moved in unison, it was time we began.

As the short-term drugs were injected into the IV port, my team crowded around, ready to restrain my patient. His movement stilled over the 60-second interval the drugs took to accomplish their task, and his breathing ceased. Gino continued bagging, but at a deeper slower rhythm. He was using a higher percentage of oxygen now, flooding the Colonel's blood and tissues with as much O2 as possible, for during the attempt to insert the breathing tube he cannot breathe at all, even if he tried, those muscles are now chemically frozen. Twenty seconds, that or less was our goal, twenty seconds from last lungful to next in which to accomplish our task

Confidence had little to do with my estimate of time, unfortunately I'd had lots of practice, all of us had. Twenty seconds would be more than we needed.

With the laryngoscope in my left hand, I moved my right close to the Colonel's jaw. My eyes met Gino's where he stood bagging via a face mask to my patient's left, he stopped and stepped back allowing another to move into a restraining position. Immediately I gently pushed open my patient's mouth, his jaw not resisting as it normally would. My hand touched fleetingly on his chin as I slide the scope in, illuminating its slide down his tongue towards his throat. Once I'm sure of the conditions, the plastic of the tube travels along the shinning stainless steel surface until I have it deep enough. Quickly and gently I withdraw the scope, leaving behind the artificial airway as Gino moves in again, attaching his bag to the now inserted tube. I'm listening more than seeing as my team checks my work, listening to my patient's bagged breaths, breaths powered only by Gino's strong fingers. A stethoscope is rested on the battered bare chest before me.

"Right sounds good."

The hands move to the other side.

"Left good too."

Holding my breath I watch the hands move to the hollow of his stomach, I get an 'okay' sign and only then do I meet the eyes of the speaker and smile. Meanwhile, Gino is already taping the tube in place and connecting the ventilator, he returns the smile that everyone now wears.

Out of habit I keep track of the ventilator's rhythm, and thought hard about my next step. He'll have to be x-rayed to confirm the proper placement of the tube, the sooner the better. But there are other things that need doing now.

There were two issues in the Colonel's treatment. The seizures were the result of the overdose and any move I made to correct one would affect the other. The seizures were caused by swelling of the brain, an effect of morphine poisoning, and they were driving up his blood pressure. This also endangered the stability of his injuries, especially his spine. Even with the evidence of movement in his legs, there appeared to be serious trauma to his lower back and who knew just how precarious that connection between brain and toes might be. Just a twitch at the wrong time could end all movement – forever. So, dealing with the more immediate threat, the seizures had been my first concern. That was now controlled.

It was time to deal with the underlying cause of those seizures, the morphine overdose. Considering the Colonel's history with the drug, I'd kept up on all the literature, just in case, a lucky coincidence since I'd just read a case history that clinically paralleled this incident closely. They used a slightly different method to deal with the overdose, abandoning the usual invasive gastric lavage, totally inappropriate due to his back injury. With the right medications to offset the spiking blood pressure and an antagonist to the morphine I might be able to squeak him through, keep him alive long enough for the morphine to flush out. Brain swelling has already occurred; the seizures are proof of that. Minimizing the damage is all I can do.

"Gino, I need someone to stay on the BP, the seizure activity is pushing it up too high, we'll use sodium nitroprusside to combat that, but I expect as the seizures tail off his BP will drop like a barbell though a rotten floor and I need to know the instant that occurs. We'll change over to dopamine to bolster it back up, as the morphine will push him into hypotension. Got that?" His smile and nod told me he understood, I told him the dosages that would be needed as I recorded the instructions into the Colonel's chart and he left to fill those, he would take care of the monitoring himself, he always did when it was the Colonel.

"Okay, I need someone to prep and hang a continuous of Naloxone at 4 per and set up a toxicity testing schedule for the next couple of days to track its progress." Another left to prepare the morphine antagonist as the first returned with the anticonvulsant drip.

"Next we need to get him to x-ray and check the placement of the breathing tube. Then I'll need an MRI, full spinal and a head series. Those seizures are caused by swelling in the posterior of the brain, vasogenic edema, fluid retention, from the morphine poisoning, I need to know how bad. I'll also need full neural checks done until further notice. Let's get to it people."

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Sam was still slumped against me, but there was someone else here, I felt them; that had nudged me from my uncomfortable sleep. Whoever they were they loomed over me. Recognition flooded me; this was someone I knew – very well, someone who made it a habit to surprise me, but maybe not this time.

"Good, DanielJackson. Very good."

I grinned slightly, I had succeeded somewhat in hiding the fact that I was awake and aware of him, I opened my eyes and looked up at Teal'c.

"You're back."

"Indeed."

"How's Eric?"

"He is well."

"You don't look convinced?"

"He is among friends."

Ah... _friends_, the team must have decided who they would follow. That had been faster than any new SG Team has been able to accomplish in the past, cohesion could take weeks, months or never. Jack could be like a bear when a new team didn't jell as fast as he'd like, complaining that finding good leaders was impossible. Eric may not be 'totally' well, but Teal'c trusted that he would soon be or he would never have left. His honor demanded he step in if Jack were unable.

"That's good. Uh... we haven't heard anything yet."

"As I surmised," sweeping his arm out to indicate we were still out in the hall. We had been here long enough for Sam to wind down and fall asleep.

Just then a figure stepped around the far corner of the hallway and moved towards us, the night lighting making it difficult to recognize whom they were.

"The General."

Teal'c about faced and stood waiting for the man, I remained seated, but nudged Sam, who like any good soldier, was now fully awake and alert.

"Good, you're all here," he stopped centered in the hallway, practically at attention, he raised his arm and checked his watch in near parade ground precision before catching each of us in turn with his eyes. "Conference Room in thirty minutes. Dr Fraiser will brief us on Colonel O'Neill's condition."

Each of us acknowledged his order in our own way, and then, he nodded and strode back down the hallway. It's always a bit astonishing when a two-star general comes in person like this; it's just another indication of just how much the SGC is like family. And, just how much Jack means to the man who wears those stars.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

Feet swinging in the wind, I rubbed a dusty hand across my face.

Tired, I was really tired, tired to death -- of death.

Below, the last vestiges of the slowing sinking sun heightened the gold of the air, and deepened the green of the earth. The flocks of near-flamingoes were harder to hear now, only the occasional whoop-snap of a lone voice, answered by another. Seeking, and finding.

Sigh.

I'd come out here to be alone, but no one would let that happen. They're worried, so they crowd me, their eyes on my back as I sit here in an illusion of solitude. Couldn't blame them, I'd done some pretty stupid things in the past, what was to stop me now?

So close, I'd come so close to having that special relationship with the Colonel. I don't even know if he'll live. Why is it that I can't find someone to love me -- for me? My father showed me how little he loved me, even taking that final route, making sure I knew just how much he hated me. My mother, well... she'd long ago left. I don't blame her, not after little Suzy died. She left me too and she couldn't even walk yet; she could barely say my name. I'm alone; I'll always be alone.

It's warm, but the breeze cuts into me like ice.

Burying my face in my arms I pulled my legs up to the rough stone to have a place to rest them. I'd just rest. Not think anymore. Just hide for a while in the gathering darkness.

Something hot and salty slid across my cheek and into the corner of my mouth. Drops of wetness fell onto my arms, I could feel my shoulders start to shake, and then sobs, from deep, deep inside started popping out.

My body grieved as my mind slouched back, stunned at my own reaction to my drifting thoughts. Sadness pulled me in. And, no longer willing to fight it, I gave in to the pain and shock as it broke over me like a wave, completing my destruction.

Dimly, though this maelstrom of emotional self-immolation, I felt someone holding me, stroking my back, rocking me like a child. I didn't care who, or why. Burrowing into that safe haven, my tears flowed unchecked as I clenched frantic fingers at this precious unaccustomed comfort. My breath hitched in and out, each exhale vomiting out part of an endless store of desolation contained within my heart. Strong arms tightened around me and held me safe for what felt like an eternity until I finally relaxed into the calm healing darkness of an exhausted dreamless sleep.

XXX

From a darkness so deep, that nothing existed there, even myself, I jerked to full awareness, bolting to a sitting position. Bedazzled, stupefied and stiff, I saw nothing but the sky before me, not blue, but a tawny-green. Under me a blanket covered brilliant gray-white stone, insulating my body from its chill. So abrupt was my awakening that I couldn't place my location, but had to think about it. PBX 123.

Bushes rustled behind me, swinging my head around, all I caught was a vaguely human shape dropping from sight too fast to fasten onto. My hand sought support at my swift move, brushing against something. Looking down I saw containers of food and water -- and a piece of paper.

It was full light and practically in reflex I brought my watch up... gone. Damn. Rolling from one hip to the other, I patted down the blanket looking for lumps and scanned the immediate area. No watch. Great, just great. A watch-less leader.

In irritation I snatched up the paper.

_Have your watch. When it's time for you to quit sleeping we'll let you know._

_Van Sickle's Survey Team_

Ah... ah... Crap!

Clenching the paper to my chest, I lay back onto the blanket, confused. To block out the distraction of the sunlight, I flung an arm over my eye and thought. Last night came back in a rush, clear, but dream like, almost as if it had happened to someone else. Did I really break down? Absently I rubbed the bump on my head, remembering hitting it more than once yesterday, maybe I jarred my brain just a little too hard and I actually dreamed up last night. No, no, I was sure it happened and there should be proof, physical proof that it did.

Ghosting my fingers across my shut eyes, I felt the swelling there, the kind that happens when you cry uncontrollably. My throat felt a little sore too. I _did_ break down and bawl like a little kid. And if that happened, who held me? All I could remember was a masculine voice and strong arms. I felt so safe, so wanted. Now, all I felt was embarrassed that I'd acted like that, taking comfort like a small child.

Slitting my eyes open I held the paper up and read it again. The signature told me more than the other words. They accepted me even after my childish behavior last night. The back of my mind kept whispering that maybe they were doing this to control me, or that I was a soft touch, or they were mocking me. I shook my head at those thoughts; I'd been around them enough to know they wouldn't think like that. They cared -- about me. It was scary.

Not only was I in charge, but they also trusted me to be in charge. The sudden weight of that responsibility threatened to crush me. Only my loss of Colonel O'Neill prevented that. If I couldn't be his friend, if he died -- if I truly lost him, there was something I could do. Living up to his standards and ideals would never be enough, but I needed to show the world how much I held him in regard -- and in my heart.

The Colonel trusted me with this project, it was important to him and he told me I was the best he has found. Now was the time to prove that his trust in me was not misplaced, his or those who have declared themselves: Van Sickle's Survey Team.

Since I had their trust, I needed to show them that I trusted them in turn. A loud grumble from my empty stomach seconded that decision; rolling unto my side I opened my eye to see what they had left me for breakfast.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Fidgeting with the half-full coffee cup between my hands, I thought back to my glimpse of my friend as he appeared in the Gate Room, he'd looked awful, but I'd seen him look worse. Jack has come back on his shield enough times for me to acquire the ability to shrug it off -- temporarily. He always comes back; he's always okay, eventually. What made this worse than any other time was Teal'c's expression; it tumbled my bizarre comfort zone down around my ears. My Jaffa friend's face held the usual mask he wears when one of us is hurt, a mask I'd only seen _after_ Janet had pronounced her verdict, to see it before... that told me volumes, Jack was badly hurt. But, Teal'c standing between us: _that_ gave a finality to Jack's injuries, telling me without words that he believed Jack was beyond help -- this time. The realization that Teal'c believed our friend and commander was dying, or irrecoverably injured, pushed my horror into the realm of true fear.

My thoughts drifted through all the times I'd been around helping Jack recover, how he refused to admit that he was in pain or that he found doing his usual routine difficult. So much unnecessary pain to preserve an image that wasn't truly him, forcing himself though the pain, preserving an illusion of strength he did not yet possess. I saw again his grim, determined face smoothed into that impassive mask in the surface sheen of my coffee, like a way-back machine of images, denial was how he dealt with many of his problems. But Jack may not be able to deny this. Would he try? Would I?

Jack's face disappeared in the ripples across my cooling coffee; Sam had stood, jarring the conference table enough to disturb my ruminations in its reflective surface. The reason strode into the room, followed by Dr Janet Frazier -- General Hammond. The general stood while she and Sam seated themselves.

I'd arrived with Sam, a fresh cup of coffee in my hand, my last chore in the Commissary while Sam had excused herself to the latrine, or ladies room, or what ever you want to call it. We met up again half way to our goal. We'd wolfed down a sandwich each, while Teal'c had uncharacteristically inhaled a fruit salad. Not that he didn't eat fruit salads; it was the speed in which he ate it. Without a word he stood and left, really not all that unusual, but a little disconcerting considering what was going on. All that mattered I guess was that he was here when we arrived, sitting next to the empty seat that Jack always occupied, as if guarding it.

"Dr Fraiser, let's hear your report."

"Yes, sir. Just to state for the record, all of us present here are listed as 'family' in Colonel O'Neill's records, entitling each of us to full details of his condition and limited power over his treatment, the US Air Force having complete power and the added responsibility for evoking his DNR as it currently stands."

This was standard, except for the 'family' part, exactly like mine, Jack and I had no family, except for SG-1, Hammond and Janet. Nick was included in mine and Sara, Jack's ex-wife, in his. However, both are listed as 'only inform in case of death.'

I'd been surprised to find that arranging it this way was possible. Jack explained that it was common in special operations of all branches of the military, as most members tended to be single men with no immediate family. Their team became their family.

Not unlike waves of pain, Janet's litany of medical jargon washed over me, the reality of Jack's injuries almost too much to contemplate. Even worse, his recovery was still shrouded in speculation and mere chance. Janet insisted that even as bad as it sounded, Jack did have a chance for full recovery, and I knew she would make sure that that slim chance he had would be protected, and maximized though her dedication to her job, and her friend. Hope began to grow within me again, springing from that hollow that Teal'c's well-meaning actions back in the Gate Room scooped out. But still, she warned, disaster had better odds.

There was entirely too much 'if', 'we hope' and 'a chance' for my taste, I wanted something more concrete. However, from my own visits to the Infirmary I knew that was something I would never get. No one was even sure if his recovery was up to him and him alone, there was just too much uncertainly. Jack, my best friend, lay paralyzed by drugs given him by us; a machine breathed for him, and, were he conscious, he would be befuddled by drugs given him by his would-be assassin. How could he fight his way back like that?

Maybe there was something I could do? Only Janet would have an inkling, there must be something I... we, can do.

"So, Jack's not going to really know where he is. Waking up will be terrifying. He's strong, but even the strongest can take only so much," I stated more to Janet than the rest of those seated around the conference table.

"Yes, that's true. It has been a problem with him in the past..." She paused, glancing at the General, I got the impression that was a tidbit she'd rather have keep from him, "...a very minor one, but this time it will be a major problem. I do have a plan if the rest of you are agreeable to it."

"Anything to help the Colonel, Janet. What is it that we can do?" Sam's curious voice from next to me said, I nodded in agreement as did General Hammond and Teal'c added his usual head bow.

"Okay. He'll be unable to move or speak, but he can feel and hear. I need someone to be in constant physical contact with him at all times. And of course speaking to him would help enormously." Janet looked at our faces, her own fearing that we might just refuse. Did she actually think she was asking too much of us? Jack would do it for us; we could do no less for him.

The General was the first to speak.

"Dr Fraiser, I believe I speak for all of us. We'll do whatever it takes to get Colonel O'Neill though this crisis."

I joined in the low words of agreement and head nods. Sam offered to set up a schedule that would afford us all time to do our jobs, rest, and still help Jack in the Infirmary.

"It should only be for few of days, until the drug is flushed from his system. That will allow the swelling of his brain to subside, eliminating the seizures and the need for the paralytic. Once he's coherent I'm certain he'll be able to cope easily." Janet glanced at the General again, that feeling of not wanting to talk about that certain subject showing on both of their faces and furtive glances at one another. Janet and General Hammond may share that tidbit she was reluctant to reveal about Jack, they both shared a secret regarding my friend.

"Sam, if you'll alert me as to the schedule I inform my staff of it. The Colonel will be moved to a private observation room. He's still very ill and needs constant monitoring; I've done all that's possible. Now only time will tell, we'll know more after 24 hours." She smiled, looking relieved; but still worried. That last indication of her inner thoughts worried me, Jack was very much in danger of not recovering and she knew it. She'd told us, but understanding that was an entirely different issue.

**Colonel MacKenzie**

"Hey, Mac. What ya doing?"

I was grappled by what felt like a BDU clad octopus. Cochran! What was he doing here? He'd caught me here for the last two evenings, suddenly he was everywhere I went and I knew that if I were to survive until my next fitness review he would not be the reason why; most likely the reason why not. He was like a narcotic, I felt good for just a second. For that one second I knew he had sought me out – me. But after that second then everything seemed to fall apart. Like how long it would take to pry myself from his dubious company? And how much would his presence add to my credit card balance. The aftermath was not worth the second of pleasure.

"My job... and don't call me 'Mac,' " I uttered in that voice I 'knew' made everyone within earshot cringe, everyone, 'except' CAPTAIN Isaiah Cochran. He could cause irreparable damage to my ability to command; luckily the corridor was empty, _thank_ God for small favors.

_Couldn't he see that I was busy? Go away. Go away. Go away. No, don't..._

"What's that?"

His big grubby paw batted at the small injection tray balanced in my left hand, like some hairy bear intent on honey from a hornet's nest. My right hand was trapped in my pocket trying to extract the keycard I needed for my next stop, I hadn't a chance to forestall the inevitable, the tray tipped from my hand.

"Oops, clumsy me."

Once I recovered from my contortions to prevent it's fall, knowing full well that I had totally lost contact with it, yet had not heard the metal tray's clang on the hard concrete floor, I unclenched one eye to peer about. He stood there with that goofy grin he wears like a long past its prime favored holey t-shirt; the tray perched atop four fingertips of one hand, a clear mockery of servitude.

"Lead, I'll follow," he said, giving me a half bow and swinging his free hand across his body inviting me to continue down the hall.

_My mouth must be open. I know it must be open. Shut it. Shut it. Shut it! _

Its chain tangled in my fingers, the freed keycard swung in slowing arcs as I stared at Cochran like he was insane. If I moved, would someone shout, 'You're on Candid Camera?' Mentally I shook myself. He was insane. I just hadn't proved it yet.

My mouth closed with an audible click as I ground into movement, juddering as I picked up the pace, like I'd shifted from First to Fourth at too low a speed. My street shoes clicked sharply, faster and faster, matched by the thuds of his boots following me. I couldn't escape.

"Hey, you okay there, Mac?"

Puzzled, I soon realized that my hand was clapped to my forehead; casually I dropped it, my eyes checking for witnesses.

"Fine, perfectly fine. And don't call me Mac."

Of course he will ignore my request, like the last one, the one before, the one prior to that, the previous one prior to that one, ad infinitum. He only heard what he wanted to hear.

Before us was a side corridor, a sentry sat reading in a chair touching the wall opposite it. He was there to guard the two detention cells located here; one was my destination. Dr Means' cohort resided there and I needed to provide a sedative. He was catatonic and really didn't need it, but General Hammond wanted him sedated until he could be transferred out of the Mountain. Sedating this man was a totally unnecessary precaution, but not harmful for a few days, perhaps, even therapeutic. Without the sedative a surveillance camera inside the cell was manned 24 hours a day, and the sentry was equipped with a cardkey just in case a problem developed. But isolation was the watchword for cases like this, still I felt like my profession was being prostituted. Drug security rather than drug therapy.

Cochran led me to the door of the cell after I informed the sentry of my intention. Then he followed me into the room, which was most irritating; even more irritating was that he was between my patient and me. This was the man that Teal'c had terrorized so badly that he broke with reality and as soon as the Air Force figured out what to do with him he would be gone from here. Not soon enough for me, I disliked dealing with the man this way and would dislike treating him even more. I doubted that I could be profession in the least with him or Dr Means.

"Would you mind?" Cochran had almost knocked me down when he bent over the man in the bed; my patient was equipped with a feeding tube and a catheter. A nurse from the Infirmary checked him once every two hours, more than adequate with the video surveillance and the heart monitor. His heart rate and breathing was relayed to the Security Monitor Bunker and the Infirmary. Very little could go wrong.

"Uh, he looks okay to me. Why doesn't he wake up?"

Sigh. Groan.

"He's in denial."

"Egypt?" Only his back was visible, but that goofy grin was on his face, I just knew it.

"No you ninny, he's denying the existence of anyone except himself, and he's probably trying to deny that too. This is just easier for him at the moment, he'll wake up when he's ready."

"When will that be?"

He was full of questions tonight, like a large child, too curious for his own good. Some people never grow up.

"When he feels safe enough or scared enough, he'll wake up."

"Oh."

Disappointment, I heard disappointment. Why would he be? Maybe he wanted to see Teal'c interrogate him? That probably excited him. I'd had just about enough, I just stepped up next to him and bumped him aside with my hip, eliciting a 'Hey!' from him in the process. I waved him away and pointed out the silver eagle for good measure before lifting the patient's hand to access the Injection Port installed there. Seconds later it was done, until the same time tomorrow. I pointedly opened the cell door and stood staring at Cochran, tapping my foot. He stared at me looking incredulous, the fingers of one hand splayed across his chest, questions in his eyes. I motioned him out. He silently mouthed 'moi?' I nodded. He shook his head. I pointed out the door. He made to sit on one of the chairs against the wall. I stepped forward, locked a hand around his upper arm and pulled.

"Hey, all you had to do was ask!"

"With what, an engraved invitation?"

"I think you're getting the concept of humor," he huffed grinning.

Preceding me out the door and to the main corridor, I slowed my steps trying to keep him ahead of me I wanted to break away as soon as possible. I was not paying for another dinner, no matter how nice he was to me. The gap widened between us. Ah, it was working. Past the sentry, down the corridor, around the corner, he was at the next corner as I came around it. Rounding the last corner before the elevator, I heard the ding and slam of its doors. The corridor was empty. The car was ascending I sprinted for the stairwell. I would go down a couple of levels and wait before using the elevator. I was a full colonel, outsmarting a captain should be child's play.

My shoulder complained when I jerked open the heavy fire door to the stairs, my steps echoed loudly as I rushed down the first flight, my left hand anchored me as I swung around for the next flight when a hand reached out and caused my shoulder to complain again as I lost my grip on the railing and skidded to a stop.

"Hey, Mac where ya going? Thought we'd were doing dinner tonight?"

"Dinner? You might be going to dinner, but not with me. And don't call me 'Mac.' " Huffing, trying to regain my breath at such a long speech after one flight of stairs I cringed. Not only was I out of shape, I still had my human leech. Signing up for fitness classes here at the SGC would solve the first, but I knew that I would be buying dinner for the second.

XXX

_He wants something. _

Through the forest of alcoholic cocktails and a lone Shirley Temple, I glared at my unwelcome dinner companion. Why all the drinks? Was he trying to get me drunk? Again!

"What's this all about," I asked Cochran, waving a hand over the 90 proof concoctions, before pulling the cherry topped child's drink closer. "Isn't it enough that the current topic of gossip is whether I'm a top or a bottom? And I prefer a Roy Rodgers!" spiting that last comment out, finding it didn't faze him in the least while taking a long pull on the straw, savoring it fizzyness, crushing the cherry hidden in my mouth, mingling it's taste with the cola. As if mere alcohol could rival the simple pleasure of a childhood memory.

"Well... Ah, actually we're both considered bottoms, and they are discussing who... or what, the top might be. As for the drinks... I though you like to explore the new and exciting some more," he grinned at me, like I would enjoy being plied with drink, no matter how exotic. After all I'd learned my lesson, never get drunk, and never ever get drunk with him around.

"You want something. Don't you?"

"What? What could I want from the great Bird Colonel?"

_So, innocent, so nonchalant, and such a liar._

At his insistence we had meal at a restaurant he chose; and to my vast surprise it was an excellent meal. Something I'd never in a million years would have suspected from any place he'd venture to, his idea of cuisine were the various fast food eateries that dotted Colorado Springs. Someone must have tipped him to this place. This was some kind of bribe; I just knew it. My suspicions was confirmed when the waiter brought the check and he used HIS credit card. I choked on my sip of water.

"What do you want," I gritted out at him as he gathered up the receipt, no doubt he would deduct it as a business expense on his taxes.

"Not a thing, Mac, I just wanted to pay ya back for the last couple of nights. Have a nice dinner with my friend. That's all."

He flung his arm over my shoulders and steered me towards the entrance and the street beyond, grinning.

Stunned, I felt stunned.

"Friend?"

Since when did anyone want me as a... a friend. Yes, I was most definitely stunned. He considered me a friend. This was all so confusing.

"You don't want anything?"

"Just your presence."

He sounded quite serious as we strolled down the wide sidewalk to his bright red SUV, glaring under a street light. He had insisted on driving his vehicle, a drive that reminded me Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, only I didn't vomit. And mother wasn't around to harangue me about it.

"Just my presence?"

"I like having you around, Mac. You come in handy from time to time," he declared as he settled himself in the driver's seat, I was buckling my own seatbelt and checking the dash and door for air bags.

"Oh..." I thought about that, but decided to change the subject, because it still made no sense to me. "I should have just followed you in my own car, now you have to drive all the way back to base."

Was I feeling guilty? Because of his lack of planning I would have to go back to the base too, that should make me angry, but I wasn't. And I didn't even tell him to stop calling me 'Mac.' Maybe driving home in the dark wouldn't be too bad. Then I remembered, he would be on that road too – driving. An involuntary shudder shook me; he was a mobile accident looking for a place to happen. Maybe I had some paperwork to do?

Cochran yammered endlessly all the way up Cheyenne Mountain, leaving me time to review what work I might have still to do to avoid being on this narrow mountain road at the same time as he. I wound up thinking about our topic of conversation at dinner – Colonel O'Neill.

I'd given him the newest developments on the man's condition, why he didn't already know was beyond me. Everyone was keeping track, I must admit his condition concerned almost everyone on the base. He was well liked, even by those he had disciplined in the past. And that was strange too, those he had dressed down at one point or another boasted about it like a badge of honor. I couldn't remember enjoying any encounter with Colonel O'Neill that I would want to remember or pass on to another. The man had a cutting tongue and no regard for my profession or me. This trend was exceedingly strange.

Once we arrived at the base I was unable to shake Cochran, he hung around me like a lovesick puppy. He sat next to me on the transport from the parking lot to the tunnel entrance, followed me past the check point there and then into the elevator, where he punched in a number, I assumed it was my floor.

"I'll just keep ya company, Mac."

That got me started on his insistence on 'that' nickname. I abhorred it. I was not MacGyver, or anyone who would stand for having one's surname diminished in that fashion. With a few well-chosen words he had me almost shouting at him, the car stopped and I backed out still informing him that I didn't appreciate his disrespect, he just grinned at me. I turned on my heel and was to the main corridor before I realized I wasn't where I expected to be. I turned around and started back towards the elevator, Cochran strode right past me and turned into the corridor. Stopping I stared, he didn't come back, his footfalls became fainter and fainter. I reversed directions and hurried after him, towards... ohhhh, my... the seated sentry, who pointed done towards the holding cells.

_Casual, stay casual. You belong here. _

Cochran was at the door we had both used earlier, in his hand was my keycard, I fumbled in my pocket.

_Ohhhh, No. Ohhhh, my... _

Speeding up my steps, he was pushing the door open once I got to him. Too stunned to say a word I groped at him, he gripped me and pulled me into the room firmly.

"What do you think you're doing Captain?"

"_My_ job,"

He pulled a chair over to the head of the bed, sat down and leaned over the comatose man lying there. For a few long seconds he studied the face before poking him in the shoulder with two fingers, hard; then snapped his fingers loudly over the man's face. But he got responses, not much, flinches and grunts, but that had been more than I, or anyone, had gotten from this cowardly bully.

"Hey, asshole. Wake up, you and me are gonna talk."

"Talk, Captain? I think not!"

Cochran changed before my eyes, he becomes hard and I find myself stumbling back a step, I've only seen such transformations a few times, most of them from the safe side of a locked door.

"Ya know I honestly like ya, and you ARE my superior, but this is just a little more serious than rank and sediment. So sit down and shut up, will ya."

During his words the hardness dissipated, leaving the Cochran grin that I've come to know. He can't do this and it was up to me to stop him. Tapping my silver eagles I stepped up to the challenge only to find myself sat on the floor.

"Mac, didja trip? Here, let me help ya up."

There was no where to go, he levered me up from the floor and steered me towards a second chair, with a foot he pushed it into the corner farthest from the door, just beyond the foot of the cot Mr. A. Whole occupied.

_God, I wish I knew the man's name, even a criminal should have something other than _what_ we call him._

With gentle, but inexorable, pressure Cochran pushed me into the seat. As soon as his back was turned I popped up out of it like a jack-in-the-box. Only I couldn't move forward, I tried a couple of times before I realized his hand was planted in the center of my chest. He'd moved so fast that I hadn't realized that he was there preventing me from moving away from where he placed me.

Following the arm up to the chest and on to the face, I found he was that hard, hidden person again and I melted down into the chair slowly, like a mouse backing away from a snake, only to be caught in its magnetic stare. Stunned I watch him transform into my strangely bumbling Captain Isaiah Cochran again.

_Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Stop it STOP IT! You're babbling. He REALLY is insane._

"Why are you doing this?" I asked as he moved back to the other chair, more than frightened and ashamed, frightened for him, because I had grown to like him and considered him my friend. And ashamed that I had backed down when I should be doing something to prevent him from doing this, to help him. Was I doing this because I liked him, making me willing to let him do the unthinkable just to keep him available for my own self-gratification.

"Cause I was asked to help Colonel O'Neill and I want to help him. Him and anyone he's close to."

"That sounds noble, but you'll never get away with this," and I pointed to the camera above me, the one aimed right at him. He wasn't so smart he would get caught. He just grinned that goofy grin of his. He was so far gone that he didn't care about getting caught. It didn't make sense. He thought the world of O'Neill. Why would he jeopardize his mission to help the man by getting caught before he could finish?

"Did ya read my personnel file?"

"Ah... some of it," I wasn't going to admit that I hadn't, at the time I cubbyholed him as unimportant, in a low impact job, a warmer of seats. If he were a danger it'd be obvious, and if not... just how important was 'document security?'

_Yeah, ignoramus. 'Radar telemetry.' You were conceited. Have you not learned?_

"Didn't bother to even open it did ya?"

Grinning even broader he pulled a small recorder out of his pocket and turned to the man in the bed.

"He won't respond to you, he's sedated too deeply."

I was summarily ignored.

"Okay, Mr. A. Whole, or whatever your name is. Listen up," and he turned on the recorder.

"_Convince me."_

The man in the bed exploded upright, scrabbling to get as far away from Cochran and that recorder as possible, pressing himself up against the head of the bed, tying to crawl up the wall, his eyes wide with fear.

"STOP!" Bellowed Cochran, he caught the man's wrist in his hand and held on until the man looked at him.

"Answer my question and 'he' won't touch you," he evenly directed at the frighten man; holding him from fleeing by fisting his hand in the scrub top he wore. "Do you understand?" Cochran asked, he waited patiently until the man's eyes met his and he minutely nodded. As the man calmed he rearranged the tubes attached to his captive and threw back the bedding. Then he drew a sheet up to cover his lower body. The concern and consideration shocked me. Why all the solicitous actions while virtually torturing the man?

"Okay. First off, what's your name?"

To my amazement the man tried a few times before a whisper came out, I could not hear what he said, but Cochran parroted it back at him for confirmation.

"Manny Devine, your name is Manny Devine?"

Manny nodded.

"And you work for Dr Means?" Manny shook his head.

"Who then?" Manny shrugged, the man wasn't talking much, but his communications skills seemed intact. So different from the cocky bully of before, he was certainly cowed, his recovery was shockingly sudden, and wholly sadistic, abject terror can be a great motivator. The voice on that tape belonged to Teal'c, the man who had reduced him to his state of catatonia.

"Okay, the men from the plane, do you work for them?"

"No... no," stuttered Manny, eyeing the shadows, and me. He was very agitated, like he expected the boogieman to jump out at him at any time, a boogieman named Teal'c.

"Do they know who they work for?"

"No... big secret."

"Rumors, suspicions?"

"I can... can't..."

"_You wish to live"._

"Nonononono," chanted Manny, his eyes jerking around the room, yellow fluid pulsed along the tube that led down. The words even startled me, the menace clearly heard in them, menace Manny had experienced first hand. Cochran held on to him forcing eye contact, muttering to him, too low for me to catch. When Manny had calmed, Cochran resumed.

"You do know 'he' is more than just a friend to the people you were messing with, don't you?" Manny vigorously shook his head, clearing ignorant of the personal relationships he had trespassed onto. Pressing himself into surface at his back, Manny acted as if he could sink out of sight, into safety within the concrete wall behind him. "You think I'm not gonna let him know just how corporative you've been?" At that the man was near to panic stricken, enough so that Cochran gripped him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall with a piercing look and a quirk of an eyebrow, preventing him from squirming away. And it seemed, from pulling on the tubes that tethered him to the bed.

"Please I don't wanna die. Please I'll tell ya everything, but that big guy is gonna wanna kill me. And if those guys I work for find out so will they. Please, please, please... nonononoo..." Manny was crying, clinging to Captain Cochran and to my surprise the captain was uttering soothing sounds and offering the man physical contact, providing him with safety and reassurance.

"Manny, ya gotta. I'll do what I can to get you some place safe, but that's all I can do. You speak and the big guy will probably leave you alone. Come on, spill."

Between insipid sobbing, hiccups and bouts of tears Manny 'Mr. A. Whole' Devine, thug and bully, became a pathetic example of what happens to the immoral eventually. With growing horror I realized that the whole plot wasn't aimed at Lt. Van Sickle, oh yes, they wanted him for experimentation, there seemed to be something unique about him, but that was just a bonus. Who ever was behind this whole mess was after Colonel O'Neill and it seemed their goal was twofold.

To hurt and to destroy.

There had been plans involving all of the members of SG-1, one at a time, in ways that would damage O'Neill as much as possible. Daniel Jackson was to have been the next target. Manny told of actually stalking the archeologist at the Public Library when he met with Van Sickle's roommate, that the later attempt to assault him had been called off when O'Neill himself showed up at the man's door, staying the night. Manny told of the speculation that they were lovers because of that random incident – a totally absurd assumption. All of SG-1 frequented each other's homes as if they were their own. Were they conducting sexual liaisons, that total sharing of each other's refuges would not have been possible.

Manny told of there being two different individuals involved in pushing the plot forward. The one with the ultimate power wanted Colonel O'Neill dead, but the man charged with carrying out that directive wanted to make him suffer first, he had his own agenda and was not above harming O'Neill's friends. Killing those friends he could not do as his superior deemed the rest of SG-1 irreplaceable – and subduable.

"Ya gotta get me outta here. It's not safe. They can get to me here. Please, please... I'm sure that I can remember something else. Please," and Manny dissolved into a quivering mass, leaning heavily on Cochran who hugged the thug to his chest, resting his chin on the sobbing man's head. His eyes were far away, thinking.

"That's not possible," I blurted out, drawing Cochran from his thoughts, focusing his attention on me.

"Mac, you may be a good psychiatrist, but you don't know shit about security," his trademark grin was missing; he looked very different – intelligent – almost.

"Our security is good..."

"No, it's not. There are too many holes. This is an old installation; it's huge, needing lots of outside support for operations here. There are ways in if they really want in. But that's not really the problem. I think they're already here."

"What?"

"Hey, I may be captain to your colonel, but I'm a specialist in security, the de facto head of information security. I admit I was brought in to review security for documents and information transfer, but I was raised in the security business. I'm confident that they are already on the base and were here even before we knew what was going on."

"Shouldn't Mr. Devine know all this?"

"Nope, he's just muscle. Goes and does what he's told. No need to know, ya know."

Though the entire interrogation, one that used fear as a motivator, I had not interfered. Somehow I couldn't, I had come to trust this man and really wanted him as a friend. But, could I, should I? He has just revealed psychological traits that screamed his mental imbalance. I needed to do something to stop this and I needed to do it now before it got any further. There was no telling what emotional damage he'd down to Manny Devine, and what physical damage he might do based on his suspicions, suspicions that were suspect. And I wondered just how does the mentally impaired see something like this?

Cochran eased Manny down into the bed, covering him up like a child before turning to me.

"Mac, I need your patience. And your word that none of this goes anywhere, if I don't get it, I'll be forced to do something we both will regret. I'm sure I've scared you with this little performance, and performance it was. I'm as sane as Colonel O'Neill, even if you think Jack is far from sane. What do ya say, buddy?"

He slipped a syringe from his pocket, a familiar syringe; he held it out to me and waited.

Moments later my hand grasped it, positive that it was the one I had thought I had used earlier, he'd switched them. My face burned with shame, I'd thought him without imagination or intelligence. He'd just proved that assumption incorrect, and I would bet the camera here in this very room showed something very different than I can now see. He stepped away from the bed, revealing Manny's obvious bared arm atop the blankets. He had been very sure of me; just as sure as I wasn't of him any longer.

Methodically I emptied the drug into Manny, Cochran soothed his brow as the drug pulled the stricken thug into the only place of safety he knew now, the darkness of his own mind.

My eyes rose to Captain Isaiah Cochran's and I wondered if I'd just sold my soul to Satan himself.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Somehow I wound up being scheduled in late afternoon. Janet hadn't allowed any of us near Jack during the first night as her own team of professionals was monitoring his condition. He was not expected to awaken until tomorrow at the earliest. Even then he would be too confused to know what was going on. Sam, Teal'c and I decided that starting as soon as possible, getting Jack used to our touch, our voices, easing him into his incapacity though suggestion was paramount to his recovery. Janet surprised me by agreeing.

All the tests had been done, my friend's status showed little change from what we had been told in the Conference Room. His profound dehydration had added a new and delicate wrinkle to his condition. It seemed that it was hard to flush out the morphine unless Jack could expel wastes in urine, but urine forms slowly when there is nothing to secrete. Clearing his system of contaminates was imperative to his recovery, the sooner the better according to Janet. But, increasing his fluid intake too fast would complicate the inflammation of his brain. Jack was being escorted down a knife's edge of re-hydration therapy inch by slow inch, prolonging his unmoving, deathlike existence as his neural status was protected as carefully as possible.

Jack's condition was not unlike a medical house of cards that could tumble at the slightest stir in the air, and such a fall of delicate, near weightless cards representing an effect that would be like a brick wall falling onto him, doing incalculable, but not unimaginable harm.

The room was dim as I stepped in, Sam had tried to prepare me for this, but words cannot describe the utter desolation that seeing Jack like this fostered in my soul. And I felt responsible for this; all Jack had wanted to do was fix things with Lt. Van Sickle, to protect him. And, I talked him into letting me look into the mystery surrounding the young man, talked Jack into letting his heart lead him, convincing him that becoming the lieutenant's friend was okay. Talking him into feeling those paternal feelings again, telling him that no harm would come of it, no guilt or betrayal would be awaiting his gift of friendship. Letting him know that giving of himself, as he had done with me, would be good for him. But here he lies -- broken.

Slowly I made my way to the bedside chair, taking in the ventilator that breathed for Jack; its cruel cold plastic violation of him chilled me. It was as necessary as the array of monitors connected to him by their various colored wires, wires that festooned his chest and head, like tendrils of a monstrous fungus. The number and types of IV bags suspended above him and the few tubes that led to bags below him drove home just how ill Jack was as every drop of liquid was accounted for, going in and coming out. My friend was nothing more than a Grand Central Station for the medical methods that supported his weakened body. So clinically cold, it sent tremors though my body as I dropped into the seat beside him.

His long legs lay motionless beneath the thin blanket. Was he cold? Could he feel it if he were? Equally motionless, but more visible, were his arms and those expressive hands, long fingers alarmingly still. Jack spoke with his hands as much as with his voice, a voice that was stopped by the technology keeping him alive, its external extension taped to his face after emerging from his mouth, hidden under more stark white tape, giving me an impression that it hid a vile mutilation.

Expecting to see his face lax and expressionless, I was shocked at its tightness, skin too snug over bones that normally presented him as ruggedly handsome. It was seasoned with the type of character that tragedy breeds, but still capable of an emotiveness that enabled him to hide or reveal his noble loving soul with minute precision. Now he appeared transparent as milked plastic, expressing only a frozen regret in his tenseness, a shadow of whom he truly was.

Reaching out, my fingers only brushing the hairs above the skin of his hand, I sought for some sign of my friend. At the lack of that electric feeling he always invoked in me a tear slid down my cheek. There was a good chance that I would never again feel that current course between us. Bowing my head I let fall my pain, fear and confusion in tears, they bathed the hand of a man who was my occasional surrogate father, eternal friend and indispensable shield; but most of all the brother of my soul.

"Jack... please..." I whispered. 'Don't leave me,' I selfishly thought.

Go to: Chapter Eighteen


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**General George Hammond**

"Teal'c."

"GeneralHammond."

Long years in the military has taught me how not to show my startlement and this man is enough to startle anyone. One moment the doorway was empty, the next he was standing there, a palpable silent presence. Slowly I passed a hand over my face, feeling the abrasion of rare whiskers on my cheeks, I was letting little things like this slip in my worry for Colonel O'Neill... for my friend... for Jack. And, because he was my friend, I sat here and not there with him. I could not, would not add to the load he carried. Guilt would eat at him if I were with him when I was needed, so here I sat, fingering the phone. Hoping for news to arrive, catching myself constantly from standing to discover that news myself. I had to keep reminding myself that I had good people around him; he was being taken care of by the best. And I had a base to run.

"What can I do for you?" I asked while waving Teal'c towards the chair positioned in front of my desk.

He moved forward into my office, I could see beyond his shoulders to the unshuttered windows over the Stargate, but not the 'gate itself. He stopped and stood at parade rest, the chair ignored. He would stand; he always stood, and at one time with a distinct air of scarcely respectful disdain, but no more. Suffice it to say I knew that if it came down to obeying me, or O'Neill, ultimately I would lose. Still I was honored by his current level of trust and respect, for the loss of that disdain, and I hoped that one day I could depend on him as much as I could Jack -- with the lives of all those I commanded.

Learning so much, so fast must be hard -- and alien. Just as alien as how I needed to approach this Jaffa that had sided with my best officer, I have learned what I could of Teal'c's dictates, so that I could better provide the kinds of commands he would comprehend and obey, he existed very much within a web of honor and degrees of allegiance, both of which I needed to understand and play upon to get the desired result. This was never covered in command school, but long years of enforced dealings with Earth's own political machine helped provide me with an inkling.

Whatever reason he was here for I knew it had to do with O'Neill and his perception of his relationship to him.

"I wish to return to PBX 123."

"Good. A decision has been made; the team will stay in place until we can get a better handle on the infiltration into the SGC by faction or factions unknown. Personnel and supplies are being prepped and I wanted you there as my liaison."

"An honor," he solemnly intoned with an incline of his head. Minute movements telling me of his promise to do as I ask, always a man of few words, each carried much meaning. He would not fail at the task, at least not at his perception of how O'Neill would prefer it done, and that was good enough for me.

"The Joint Chiefs have decided that Lt. Van Sickle needs protection, only they don't know from whom. So the team will stay put for another week. They're already a couple of days past their extended stay date and are running out of supplies. Your opinion on the lieutenant's safety and the progress they are making would be invaluable to me."

"Gladly would I do this, our goals are similar. My only regret is leaving O'Neill."

"Son, he won't be alone. This whole mountain is looking out for him. And I've alerted security to the possibility of unfriendlies amongst us, bent on getting to the lieutenant."

"Lt.VanSickle is not the only goal," he said, and with a raised eyebrow made the inflectionless statement into a question, a question that had me reevaluating my own perception of the situation. Doubt rose to the surface and I asked my own question.

"You think we are being mislead?"

"Precisely."

**Dr. Janet Fraiser**

Stepping away from the half-light of the Colonel's room, pride in my staff was foremost in my thoughts, I had confidence in their ability to meet all of his needs, and so I turned towards a much-needed rest. This was the hardest part of my job, allowing others to take over while I did so. Constantly I needed to remind myself that the fresher I was the better I would care for my patients. But this patient would surely raise bloody hell if he ever found that I'd run myself down while caring for him. Not that I gave two cents for his anger. Quality of care was my concern, even more so for him. He was too important to lose, and my friend. But I would save him the anger and the inevitable guilty he would manifest if I did tire myself too much.

Shutting the blinds and pulling my office door closed, I slumped into my chair and closed my eyes a moment. My feet hurt, I'd been on them too long. Sneakers -- must remember to change into them when the fat hits the fire like this. My heels clattered to the floor as I toed them off, each swollen foot was rubbed to get the circulation started again. Leaning back, I rested one more moment before reaching across and switched on my desk lamp, blinking in the sudden brightness. My clearing vision sought out the in-basket and I eagerly snatched out the latest labs on my star patient.

Scanning the results of the tests I sighed in relief, all was going to plan. Now was not really the time to review that plan, but habits die hard, especially when reduced vigilance could lead to another's death. Near the bottom of the stack was a confirmation from the specialist, he had received the couriered results of the x-rays and scans; he would be here tomorrow morning. It sounded like a small miracle itself. A world-renowned doctor dropping his caseload and coming at such short notice for an unknown air force colonel. And I wondered just who in the government or military I had to thank for that favor.

And how strange for the specialist, never knowing whom his patient is and being required to never speak of his visit here. But this is the way it has to be, I'm just grateful we have this option.

Reluctantly I slipped the heels back on, replaced the papers back into the in-basket and stood, leaving the turning off of the light as the last chore before leaving. Going home would be good, if I could bring myself to actually leave the base. Maybe tomorrow... yes, if all goes well, I'll go home tomorrow and break the news to Cassie. She already knew something was up, she's always told me that my staying at the base revealed just how seriously someone was injured. She never complained; she knew I tried to get home as much as I could during such times. She saw my homecoming as a good sign, even when she knew from my face that someone hadn't made it, she pretended like nothing was amiss.

How did I become so lucky to have such a daughter?

And such friends?

I would sleep on base tonight – just in case. And, I hoped the Colonel and I had pleasant dreams.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

The noise hit me before the water did, a hollow roaring boom that I could feel on my skin and vibrated in my bones. Like standing next to a jet when the afterburner kicked in, no way was this a jet, not on this forgotten dirt ball, so it had to be a flashflood. My eyes searched the canyon walls above me, sheer, slick and too far up to climb out.

Such irony, I had made it back to my camp at the side stream and picked up my pack. If I had lingered there I would have been safe. Now I was less than a quarter mile away from that safety, might as well be a thousand miles. Going back wasn't an option, too many unknowns. Why tempt fate by rushing into the arms of disaster?

Couldn't go back, had to go downstream. I knew that there was possible safety in that direction; another stream entered the creek canyon maybe a mile further. If I ran like hell... if I beat the water there... if I could climb out... and, if I stood here debating much longer...

Slipping off my pack I ran.

Running though the sand and loose rock was hard, I could feel the tops of my boots dig into my legs, feel bruises forming already. I slipped and slid in the gravel losing precious time, allowing the freight train of water to get closer, soon it was displacing the air in the canyon so fast that it created a nice tail wind. What I'd give for wings right now.

Not gonna make it. Not gonna stop either. Giving up wasn't an option, never had been for me.

My P-90 soft-landed in a patch of sand as I lightened the load and I used the pain from my bruised chest, focusing on it, embracing its sharpness with every breath, and pushed faster.

No fucking way was I gonna bite it like this.

Complications, there are always complications. Didn't remember this much water here, damn the wave of floodwater was already passing me, deepening and spreading between my goal and me. Showing me just how fast that water roaring at me from upstream was coming. Soon I was forced to splash through its welcome wagon, slowing me even more. So loud was that wall of water I couldn't hear my harsh breaths or the roaring of my own blood pumped by my now very much panicked heart.

How far was that damn stream?

Then something hit me, from behind – hard. My vision vanished in fireworks and the world winked out.

**General George Hammond**

"Easy son, you're okay. You're not alone."

Gripping his hand, anchoring him, I trailed the fingers of my other hand across his forehead, pushing his hair into a neat line; worry prickled me. His limbs moved restlessly against the restraints, like he was trying to push something off of him, as if he could feel the insult of the leather binding him. It was hard knowing he was tied down, but I knew this upsetting solution was necessary. Yet, seeing him so vulnerable made the early morning hours here beneath the mountain just that much colder, darker, and lonely.

Who would have thought that when I first met him that he would become so important to me, just a mysterious older man and three odd companions that asked me to take them on faith and precious little else. I risked everything to do just that.

Later, at our second meeting he was a man that had to be practically dragged into the SGC, our ages very much in reverse this time. Age wasn't the only thing that had been reversed. He forced me to lock him up to get his cooperation, shattering my first image of a wise, caring, trustworthy individual. Someone larger than life. Then when he lied to me, and contrived to hide vital information, I wondered if he 'was' the same man. Never having dealt with the paradox of time before it didn't immediately dawn on me that the Jack O'Neill, there, at that moment, wasn't the Colonel Jack O'Neill I'd met years before – not yet.

It can be an advantage when you know how someone will be at a certain time in their life. I watched, waited and helped when I could. My efforts were rewarded. Slowly, surely, Colonel Jack O'Neill emerged, restoring my faith and earning my respect; and finally my friendship, even when his smart mouth urged me to throttle him. I even felt the kind of love a proud parent would feel at seeing a child do the right thing, even if one didn't approve of their methods.

I wished my wife had lived long enough to meet him. She and I had often lamented the fact that we had no son, someone to carry on the name and traditions of our family. She would have loved him; he would have been her son in all but name. I can just see my hardass special ops colonel meekly submitting to her maternal urges. Hell, he's pretty much my son in a strange way, he's Uncle Jack to my granddaughters, Kayla and Tessa, who love him dearly, and I know he loves them back, almost as much as the son he lost to tragedy.

And, losing his son nearly killed him and would have caused the fall of Earth. I'm sure of it. From the very first time I'd met him in 1969 I knew he was important, could feel that something bigger in his future. Our second, though rocky, meeting eventually reinforced that feeling, which grew with each new emerging facet of his complex personality. This man needed to live, his survival must be insured, and I could feel that at some point in the future he would be a pivotal player in the survival of our race. My fondness of him as a man is nothing in light of that fate. Yes, fate. Much to my discomfort, there is such a thing and not everyone has one, but Jack O'Neill does. He is fated to do something big. As if saving the planet more than once isn't big.

He burns so brightly; I fear he'll never reach that critical time when he's our only hope. The same hope I felt at our first meeting. Each time he's injured, lost or delayed, my breath catches in my throat. Is this it? Has he thrown the dice once too often? Is it snake eyes?

I'm not a praying man. Watching my wife die destroyed that in me. But if there's any chance at all I'd be damned if I'll let it get past me. Bending my head in silent pray I hoped for the best. For his sake, I prostrated myself before a god I had forsaken.

'Amen.'

Under my hand I felt him still. Maybe I was heard?

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

I awoke struggling. Against what? Who? Why?

It took a moment to understand that I couldn't breathe and that something was holding me down. Water, I was in... no, I was under the water.

Everyone feels the terror that drowning triggers in every animal. Only a fool would say otherwise. That terror can kill you fast or save you. Taking advantage of my body's terror I forced it into the struggle against what was holding me under. Blindly I fought back, each blow, each clawing motion allowed my oxygen starved brain time to recover, each succeeding blow was better aimed, better timed and more effective. My sudden gasps for breath told me I had fought free of what held me enough to reach breathable air.

And just as suddenly I was pushed under again.

But the lungs full of air gave me the ability to reason now. The wall of water had caught me and I was struggling with a tree that was rolling in its turbulence. If I wasn't careful this tree could kill me, catch me and force me under it to bounce off the rock at the bottom of the canyon or be crushed by any boulder rolling along with the water. Carefully I pulled myself toward the air again.

It was one of the big evergreen trees, long since dead and broken off to fall into the path of the flood. In my trek upstream I hadn't seen it and probably would have if it had been there. It's possible that it came from the bigger canyon at the source, a place I had not gone. The partially denuded limbs had swept me up from the water as they trailed the bare trunk plowing alone on the crest of the flood front. It's a good guess that the trunk was what knocked me for a loop and may have saved my life in the process.

Thought was kinda hard; I was dazed from the near drowning and the blow to my lower back, its pain just now awakening. Pins and needles raced up and down my legs, they were sluggish and took effort to move. That worried me because I wasn't in a position to take it easy.

My lack of mental acuity was nearly my downfall, raising my head I looked down the tree trunk and right at a stone wall.

**Major Sam Carter**

'Some soldier I am.'

Blinking hard, my eyes brimmed with unshed tears. My ears strained for each breath from my CO, my heart in my throat at any change in his rhythmic breathing. He is a very special man whom I tried not to think about day in, day out -- unsuccessfully.

"Sir?" I softly called out to him, afraid to touch him. Touch is forbidden. He is forbidden. He is the apple and I am Eve.

'Come on, Sam. This is your chance to touch forbidden fruit. You're expected to touch, hold... _caress_.'

Angrily shaking such thoughts from my head I recall that General Hammond had mentioned that Colonel O'Neill had been restless, calming only just before I arrived to take over from him.

"Sir, you'll be okay." 'Jack, you've just got to be okay,' yet another little voice whispered in my head; or is that my heart?

Looking down at the face I've seen in every stage of human emotion, memorized so thoroughly that just closing my eyes, I can recall the curve of his rare smiles or the depth of pain his eyes reveal when he can't do the impossible just one more time, I shudder at my extensive collection of mental photos. This had been close. Closer then that Goa'uld force field that had stood between us, when he showed me just how much I meant to him, willing to die with me, then and there. Every hair on my body raised in the shiver that shook me at the memory, the same one that visited me in the middle of the night too often. My death would be bad enough, but his... I couldn't bear that if I survived.

He needs me. And I need him. Living is only bearable if he's there too.

Selfish, oh so selfish. He is the architect of the impossible, able to push me into doing the same. My needs are nothing compared to those his own unique genius requires.

At first I imagined he was just a military jock, a shoot first with never a thought, arrogant, condescending -- MALE. Someone I'd have to defeat at his own game just to stay under his command, never to have his respect or trust, just a smart girl playing at being a soldier.

The shocking part was that what I imagined he thought, had, in part, been correct. No, he didn't think that, I discovered, but I was that, I had been playing at being a soldier, more scientist than soldier. Colonel Jack O'Neill was a soldier, a great soldier. And more startling – A MAN.

Well, that can be confusing, but to me, a man isn't just a male. A male is just a prodigy of a man. A man has honor and integrity. Fair with all, unstinting of himself and someone you need never fear. His biggest concern is the greater good, even at his own expense. An ideal. There are so few men left in the world and to think that I had happened upon one in such a way. To have been so arrogant to believe such thoughts existed in his head.

But, this isn't why I'm here, to review 'our' history together, I'm here to help this 'man,' saving him not for myself, but for the millions out there he can save, will save, and even die for. My feelings mean nothing in his struggle for survival. Our feelings mean nothing in the face of a universe full of lives and his potential to shield them.

"I'm just going to lay my hand on your arm." '_Yes, I know, we spend a lot of time preventing any kind of contact, but this is for your own good._' "Just to let you know that you're not alone." '_That I won't leave you here alone, that perhaps you'll stay for me._'

Throughout most of my time at his side, I spoke of our missions. The good parts, of which there were many. Trying hard to ignore my revel of my skin against his, I knew that I would dream of this, his sun browned skin, tight over those long strong muscles, the softness of the hair on his arms, the scratch of his beard. My endless marveling at the delicate freckles that seemed to cover every square inch I could see, giving him a boyish look, so in tune with those long dark lashes that he deemed so inadequate to shield those brown amber gems that were his eyes. So much so that he seldom went without sunglasses. Ooh, to see those golden flashes more often from their soft brown emotive depths. Many times I've considered hiding those glasses.

His restlessness returned, in payment for me taking more pleasure from my watch than I should have. Closing my eyes, I leaned down and asked his forgiveness in forgetting our vow of putting these turbulent feelings away, to remain just friends. Anything more we knew was far too dangerous. Forbidden. This I hoped would calm him.

Opening my eyes, I knew that I hadn't.

Only a man about to die has an expression like that.

My heart seized in anguish.

**Dr MacKenzie**

And I thought that fingerprints on the finish on my car angered me. But, NO, that simpleton Captain Cochran makes me furious, so angry that I can barely see straight. How dare he endanger his career in this fashion? How dare he stand there and become a totally different person. How dare he disappoint me?

He's put me in the position of needing to report him, to lock him up in a padded cell. Something I excel at.

Carefully, slowly, I close his very 'vanilla' file, I press my forehead to my beautiful cherry wood desk, objects just don't disappoint like people, nor do they create problems. After thumping my head against the desktop, I think better of that strategy. Besides, it'll give me a headache. And explaining the red mark is difficult. I'm not even sure how I wound up here, alone, in my office. Devoid of my 'friend.'

_How dare he desert me?_

Stupid man, what am I to do? This is what I get for becoming emotionally involved, for buying in to the whole 'friends' routine.

'_Ya know I honestly like ya...'_

Funny way to show someone you like them, drag them into a court-martial-able offense just by daring them to do nothing.

_Who is he, to make me like him? ...my friend. Yes, my friend._

Sitting up, leaning my head back against my expensive and very comfortable executive chair, far more dependable then any person. I let my eyes close. Nausea, I'm most definitively felt nauseous. This whole problem with Cochran has me conflicted. My arms cover my chest and belly like a warm security blanket, fending off the sudden cold. Do I do my duty? Do I. Don't I. Do I. Don't I. Ad infinitum.

What do I know? Cochran seems to have suffered some kind of break. Does anyone else know this? Hmmm, I don't really think so. For some reason he feels comfortable enough around me to display his hidden personality. I'm confident that I'm the only one who really knows. And does anyone have even an inkling of what happened to Mr. A. Whole, now known to the captain and I as Manny Devine? I have a feeling that in his dementia, Cochran has been successful in preventing anyone else from knowing what occurred.

Friends of mine aren't allowed this kind of behavior. And by God, he's gonna straighten up and fly right.

Suddenly standing, my wonderful chair doesn't budge an inch and I have to grab at the excellent desk to keep my derrière from hitting the imported rug that I know everyone here admires. Turning I check my appearance in my mirror, then turn again and stride for the door.

This just proves I'm as crazy as he is. He needs help and I'm going to see he gets it, even if I have to kidnap him and tie him to the bed in my guest room.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

"Oh Crap!"

My ride was pointed right at that rock solid wall of stone. Instinctively I scrabbled backwards along the trunk, pushing myself though the stiff, scratching tangle of dead limbs.

The abraded, rounded stump hit square on. The impact jarred me, only the limbs I'd taken refuge in held me to the main stem. The trunk broke, like matchsticks in a Cuisinart. Jagged sections and chunks rode up the dry stone drenching it with water. Large sections would fall back down the wall into the water to disappear, and then jump back into the air as their natural buoyancy forced them up again. Each section and chuck was another jarring impact. All of this happening so fast all I could do was watch, wishing I had a remote to slow down the action and observe it slo-mo. One's impending death can be fascinating.

Suddenly I stopped; I was motionless in a maelstrom of motion. As if I had placed the action in pause, a large section of trunk slid back into the water right in front of me. So close I could reach out and touch it. Now only a ribbon of boiling water separated me from the stone wall, an imaginary reprieve, just an illusionary breath of calm. Something badgered at the back of my sluggish thoughts. Like a Stone Age jack-in-the-box the tree trunk was back, it shot out of the water and loomed over me. Slowly it began that flop that each before it had experienced, vividly I recalled they usually dropped full length back into the water to partially submerge again, smashing any malingerers in the process. It teetered before me then tipped my way. Instinct forced my hands and arms to push it away, so futile my mind stuttered. And just before I touched the smooth bark-less trunk I was snatched backwards.

**Teal'c**

"O'Neill, it is I, Teal'c."

Normally I would enter a light state of Kelno'reem while watching over my warrior brother, alert to any movement or sound, yet, silent in my supporting vigil. My brother needs guidance back to us with voice; and contact with those whom he trusts. Being 'touchy-feely' as O'Neill is oft heard to describe it is most difficult for me. Such emotions being anathema amongst warriors of my race at the behest of our service to our false god, the infant Goa'uld within lies uncomfortably when emotions are freely shown.

This is an opportunity to experience and explore a world forbidden me. Only with my wife have I been allowed to express my deeper self in words and touch. How then to tell this man I respect and honor with those little used tools.

"Brother, I will be returning to the planet with news for your Chosen; Lt. Eric Van Sickle. In my heart I have named him O'Neill's Chosen, he is the child of your heart, as CharlieO'Neill is the child of your soul. You soul mourns the loss of that child of your loins every moment of your existence. You give great honor to his memory. Yet I am certain that he would approve of this young warrior you have taken into the battlements of your compassion. Do not fear besmirching your true son's memory, that is beyond your ability."

"Lt.VanSickle has taken you as his father of the heart as I have taken Bra'tac. You know of my feelings for my father, my dedication to his memory, to achieving the revenge that will free his soul to journey to Kheb. I honor my father. You may even say 'love' as you understand it, and as I am beginning to truly understand under your guidance. My father would be proud that I have claimed Bra'tac as my second father. Bra'tac would never usurp my father's rightful position within my soul."

"At times I see the emotions you hope that no one else can. Few can, but I have seen, and with each year I see more. The moment you threw open your heart to your Chosen he came under my protection as well as yours. Brother of my heart, all that you cherish I will strive to protect as you would mine."

To O'Neill I spoke of his young warrior, the greatness I could see within that damaged frame, greatness that would grow beyond his disabilities. He will be a worthy successor to my warrior brother who is not only a legendary leader in battle, but also a beacon of peace and diplomacy. Both warriors are bright flames of freedom in this benighted galaxy.

Touching O'Neill, my friend, my brother, was more difficult than I had imagined. He had taken the false god's place in my life, in ways I had not anticipated. With reverence I clasped his forearm, gently, for I knew just how fragile the Tau'ri are, their will to survive far outstripping their physical ability. After realizing I had attached the taboo of touching the false god to O'Neill I strove to defeat it, its existence was an affront not only to me, but also to my brother. A wound to his heart I would not allow by tolerating it further.

With both hands I explored his, much as I had his Chosen's that day in the gym. His long slender fingers hide a strength that is not apparent, appearing delicate, breakable. They have touched me in the past, feeling like the gentle fingers of healer or the talons of a raptor, as he chooses. I count myself lucky that I have not felt his anger or rage, or even his blood lust in his touch, but I have seen the destruction they have wrought. And I have seen the calm his massaging touch of his damaged thumb can bring to a teammate. Now I adopt that technique and speak on, filling the air with my voice so he will know that I am here and he can rest.

No longer do I fear his death -- he will live. His will is great. Yet O'Neill's essence sits lightly in the strong frame that houses it, as if ready to flee. It has always sat lightly there, too bright for such a base container. At times I believe he is a lost spirit from Kheb, caught and held by his own need to offer protection to the innocent, and, where else would he find many innocents, but among the living.

"Have I spoken of the new ballad among the Free Jaffa?"

With my own eyes I have seen my brother unleash from its container his bright spirit, it is then that the fearsome warrior he is strikes fear in all who behold him. His slim, tall body is finely honed as any weapon, reacting to any threat, loose of it reins his limbs deal death and destruction. Little survives such an unleashing.

"The ballad was presented to honor me and spoke of my mastery of the Tau'ri and my warriors of SG-1. Having asked my opinion, I gave it. Telling them of the true hero at whose feet I humbled myself to his mastery of battle and compassion of all. Yes, my brother, I did tell of you. Long did I speak of my pride in being a member of SG-1 and serving the Tau'ri as I served my own people. Only your strength and boldness broke me from my bonds to the false god, freeing me to help provide the fertile field in which the Free Jaffa now grow."

Of this and many things did I speak. Spilling more words in the short hours I had than in all the years since that fateful day Apophis ordered my brother and those not chosen by the children of the gods deaths.

The hour of departure would arrive within the last swiftly dying seconds of the preceding hour; I rose, striding to the door. My sensitive ears had heard the approach of the next to shine a spoken light upon the path my brother must take. A burning within my breast halted me short of the door and I turned to speak one last time before departing.

"You must return, there is much still to do."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill **

Totally unprepared for movement in that direction, or any direction, I almost tumbled off the new jagged end of the tree. The last chunk to break off had slammed one knee aside as it left, leaving me with the certain knowledge that the next object I felt would be that very immovable wall that was making matchsticks of this tree I sat astride.

Pulling my chin off my chest, pushing at the tree to keep myself from being pitched into the maelstrom of churning water, I clamped my legs tightly around my bucking transport. When I could, I scooted back, trying to wiggle around the closely packed limbs. Hooking an arm around one as an anchor I had to know what was behind me, because I now had my back to our direction. Slowly I faced front.

Another tree had smacked this tree. While mine was being smashed to bits by the water trying to defy gravity against the rock wall another tree drifted into the eddy where its top brushed against mine, it became entangled and drifted across the eddy until the current dragged it back into the fast ride further downstream. That was how I was jerked out from under the airborne trunk about to crush me.

Carefully I pushed myself up to my knees to look around, both tree remnants were in the center of the current, but seemed to be headed for the canyon wall again. It may have been fool hardy, but I stood. S-turns, these were the S-turns, I'd long since been swept past the point I had been running for, that possible safe haven of a small stream coming in to the creek's canyon. I remembered this section, the canyon walls were rough, they changed from one type of stone to another, and there were ledges and holes. If I could get close enough I might be able to cling to the wall until the water fell.

And it looked like I wasn't going to get any time to decide where or when.

Damn, another wall – dead ahead.

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

Whew! Now that was an experience.

Doctors in the military can be different than doctors in civilian practice. There are two kinds in the military, the dedicated and the adequate, sad but true. In civilian practice, from my own experience, there are three kinds: the dedicated, the money-seekers and the adequate. Only the adequate in this case can grade down to killers with a license. Even those well known in their specialties can inhabit the last class, while most dwell in the second. Finding a rare genius of the first category is like finding a unicorn in one's backyard. Rare, very rare.

Dr John Swale, who insists on being called 'Spike,' is of that category. Only by chance does he fit the second, wealthy and dedicated. And even better ex-military. He was stationed in Germany at the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center during the Gulf War, learning his craft by tirelessly working to repair the most damaged of American survivors of that conflict. He left the service during the cutbacks of personnel after that war concluded, enticed into the one of the biggest and most famous of hospitals specializing in extreme trauma recovery.

He is the most unusual angel of mercy I'd ever met. So short, I wondered how he met the height requirements to become an Army surgeon. Tough as nails, which explained his nickname, looking every inch a soldier fresh from barracks inspection, haircut and all. But so gentle and understanding that anyone around him could not help but respond by offering unstinting attention and granting of his merest wish. A wish that was no more than his manifestation of his burning desire to help the person in his care.

Like any mother hen I was reluctant to allow a strange to approach Colonel O'Neill, so I may have embarrassed myself when I first met Dr Swale.

"Dr Fraiser, may I ask a personal question?"

"That depends on just how personal it is, go ahead."

"Colonel O'Neill is a friend, isn't he?

"Yes, yes, he is."

"And as his friend you wish to protect him?" With a rising of both hands, a gesture of submission, he cuts me off and continues. " Doctor, I'm his friend too."

"How, when... How can that be? Surely someone would..."

Smiling he lays a hand on my forearm, grasping it gently and squeezes.

"It's the uniform, that uniform makes us all friends, makes us all brothers. Didn't you wonder why I dropped everything? Stepping out of a very busy and extremely lucrative practice, without even a word of protest? Not even a protest from the hospital that admits I make more money for them than any three doctors they have there? They knew from the beginning that if I were called to treat any member of our armed forces I would go. Any attempt by them prevent me from doing so would mean my resignation. Then I would go, never to return. I'm the best only because of my brothers in arms. I owe them everything."

My mouth must have been hanging open; I was stunned by his speech. He had the heart of a warrior just as Jack did; each had their own battles. Spike fought for an individual life and the freedom to live it; Jack fought extinction and protected our innate freedom to live our lives as we saw fit. They were truly brothers. He smiled knowingly; he was so open, so easily read. My trust was instant.

"Shall we attend to my brother?"

"By all means, lets."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

It was risky, but staying with my floating debris could prove fatal, I leaped onto the other tree, catching at the sparse slippery limbs as it tried to roll under me. Then I crouched looking for a good place to leap to.

Just as I jumped the trunk under me lurched and swung, I hit the stone wall hard, only instinct had me groping for handholds. Hand holds cause my legs were wonky, I felt something give in my back when I jumped and the pain dug deep when I hit, drowning out the other scraps and cuts that landing caused. Desperately I pulled with my arms, throwing a hip up on a tiny ledge. Momentary stars clouded my vision, damn that hurt!

Better the pain than death. The trees had hit the wall; I felt one of them brush my foot, dislodging its fragile grip on the rock. Sneaking a peek down all I saw was floating lumber. You know the kind that wind up in fireplaces and campfires, the leftovers, too small for any other use.

Looking above me, I checked my handholds and searched for a better place to perch. A large drop of water hit me right in the eye. Blinking it clear, I looked up again and got another one. Damn, it was raining. It took what felt like hours to creep up the stone to a place where I put my back to the rock and wedge my butt into an angular hollow, created when a large flake of stone had broken away. Like sitting in the bottom of a triangle, it was maybe a foot deep and graduated upwards to nothing. I wedged my arms against its sides, and there was a little protuberance where I could put one foot at a time to help hold me back against the outwards slope of the hollow. But always one foot would be hanging in the wind, I was breathing hard once I got positioned. The rain became a deluge.

Catching my breath, I shielded my eyes from the downpour. For the first time I got a good look at my surroundings. It wasn't a pretty sight. The water ten feet below was dirty and full of trees and parts of trees. And I would bet that under that, where I couldn't see, there were boulders, rocks, gravel and water heavy with abrading sand. The creek had become a moving ribbon of sandpaper, scouring all life from the canyon, as it nearly had mine.

The sky was heavy with cloud, darkening the canyon, bringing night early. With the failing of light, went all warmth; soon I was shivering with the chill and my exhaustion.

In the pitch black only sounds existed, like none I'd ever heard before. My heartbeat sped up. I could feel the adrenaline. There are just some things you can't control, my body wanted to flee, to run, and to get as far away from the danger as possible. The stress of being unable to could be my worst enemy.

**Dr MacKenzie**

I'm more than appalled at the small room, its very cramp-ness. Such rooms give rise to claustrophobia; and the chair deadens cheeks never meant to endure the ill-considered contours of this plastic contraption so misnamed chair. And I fear.

Lying helplessly bound to the bed is Colonel O'Neill. His very helplessness, his weak pulling at the leather encircling wrists and ankles prevents me from doing what should be a simple act of comfort on my part. A task played out so many times in my life, in the precepts of my profession, performing it while totally unconscious should be possible. A flush of shame overwhelms me at such callousness. Yet, all I can see, even without looking, is Captain Cochran drugged and bound to that bed rather then the SGC's 2IC. Knowing that the man who professes to 'like' me lays there because of me – ME!

Shakily I drop my face into my open palms, clenching my fingers to hide myself. Breathing harshly at the vision of what I should do, and in the past, have done, Dr. Jackson being just one such victim.

This is not what I should be doing – thinking. I'm here for another reason, a very important reason, for many important reasons. How has that escapee from the military's jock club been able to totally befuddle me that I can't do this?

Uncovering my face I cannot focus upon my task, my duty. There is real need here. Colonel O'Neill is not only one of those I need to redeem myself to, but his life is also valuable to the continuing survival of this planet. Even knowing that the man could break emotionally at any time I also know he is the best chance of many of those within this base to survive an encounter with the worlds beyond the Stargate.

The issue of what I should do about Captain Cochran must be solved. Now!

Unasked, an unremembered moment flashed into existence, a memory buried within. After getting drunk in Cochran's office, after being taken into custody by the SFs, while laying in a drunken stupor in that dark holding cell. So stupefied that knowing what that could or would do to my career my whole world had narrowed to gentle fingers brushing though my hair. I knew who -- a man; a man I'd thought beneath me. Yet he comforted me without hesitation, without reward. For the first time in my life I felt a loving touch freely given because I lived. Someone valued my existence.

How could I forget such a thing? That warmth that blossomed in the desert that was my heart should be cherished and horded against the thong that tolerated me, wished me gone. Yes, gone. To survive the hostility of those around me I convinced myself that it was jealousy, envy that drove those to express their dislike of me. Cochran has shown me that perhaps, in my ineptitude, I was somehow the cause of their dislike. Yes, I know, too improbable to contemplate isn't it?

All I know is that Cochran gave me something I'd never had before. I liked it. I wanted more. And only he seems to be able to supply the 'fix' this new and disabling drug demands of me.

NO!

I will not be the one to report Captain Isiah Cochran; but I will be the one that will save him. The knowledge resides within me to accomplish his recovery. Yes! I will do this. I will not lose this source of warmth. I will not lose... 'my'... friend. Even at the cost of my career, or my freedom, I will keep him near. Selfishly I will partake of this new drug – MY friend.

Relief at making a decision, even the outrageously stupid one I have chosen, quiets the tremors in my body and slows my breathing, a steadying calm settles over me. I have made the right decision for all the wrong reasons. Raising my head I can now look at the man before me. It strikes me at that moment, Colonel O'Neill too has made the right decision for the wrong reasons; and in my arrogance I have faulted him for it. My latest decision has shown me yet another wrong I need to remedy between he and I.

But first, I need to do what I'm here to do. Soon, very soon, I will be able to do what I know I must to keep what my soul and heart demands of me.

Drawing the hideous torture chair closer I speak the words that I know will comfort Colonel O'Neill and perform the acts of touching that will calm that part of him that has no language. My actions are without thought; my thoughts are contemplating the new ground I share with man struggling for balance before me.

I refuse to lose either man -- or myself.

**Dr MacKenzie**

Steaming like an icebreaker off the North Pole, I was a man on a mission as I pushed though the crowded corridors of the SGC. Suddenly I seem to have a friend, not exactly a wanted friend, more like a cancerous growth than a friend. But he's my cancerous growth. And he needs me desperately. Not that he knows it, but he does. He can be so ignorant sometimes.

Airmen jump out of my way, only Colonel O'Neill could get a better response.

Captain Cochran's door was closed. Is it always closed? Or does he leave it open when he's in the office? Hmmm. I knock. And again. Ah... and again.

"Captain Cochran!" And I banged on the door again for good measure, my efforts getting a modicum of interest from a passing technician whom I glared at. He hurries on his way. Still no lunatic grin greets me. Maybe he's not in his office?

Out of habit I try the knob. It turns.

Quietly I pushed the door inward, slipping into the still lit room when there is enough space to snake my body between door and jamb. And just as quietly I pushed the door closed to lean my back against it as I drew in a deep calming breath. I was not cut out for this clandestine work. And when I have the captain on my couch, finally, he and I will speak long on the subject of just why he feels he must be some kind of dime store detective. Surely there must be some form of traumatic experience in his childhood behind this bizarre career goal? He needs a more sensible career, this one could make him a dead would-be hero.

Still breathing hard from the adrenaline brought on by my invasion of his private domain, I let my eyes roam over his office. It's reminiscent of General Hammond's office, decorated with certificates, military memorabilia and pictures. Pictures? Cochran's are different. The general has personal pictures of his family, but all of them present their frame backs to anyone in the office, only the general can see the faces of his loved ones. But, here... here, Cochran has not only more, but all are facing out. For any and all to see. Behind his very business-like desk is a credenza top that transforms into shelves of books to the ceiling, but the flat surface at the point of transformation is covered with more family photographs then I've seen in many a day.

Stepping across the room I drop into his desk chair and swivel around to view the crowd of framed photos. Everyone is smiling, touching – happy. My heart feels a little hollow at the sight. What... it's a portrait shot of Cochran, but it's the smaller photo jammed between protective glass and frame edge that shocks me, because it is me.

The frame somehow becomes cradled in my trembling hands; I feel tears swelling in my shock-widened eyes. That's me. It's the same terrible picture that's in my personnel jacket. The man is just asking for problems, he probably lifted it from my personnel jacket. Doesn't he realize he can be tracked down and disciplined for this act of vandalism? I'm bound by duty to report this. I don't know what warms my heart the most, the fact that he has the photo displayed with this precious collection of his family or that he is going to get into trouble for risking to take it.

This firms my resolve, so, taking myself in hand, I carefully replaced the photo before turning to search his desk for clues to his location. Its clean surface stood gleaming between me and his flat screen computer monitor, across which flashes scenes of men in barely there swimming attire. Lean, glistening bodies caught in the act of movement; diving, swimming, walking and rubbing soft fluffy towels across well-defined muscular torsos, something else that we need to discuss when I have him where I want him.

Finding the keyboard in a tray under the desktop I pull it out and tap a key, clearing off the feast of male bodies, before me lays his Outlook Daily Calendar. How convenient. The man hasn't a clue about keeping information secure. Everything I need is right here.

Flipping back though the last couple of days I find that Cochran has an unusual habit of including his off duty plans in his 'everyone can see it' calendar. And tonight he has no plans. Perfect.. Now I know just how to get him the help he needs.

Nudging the mouse I reactivate the brazen bazaar of bare skin, giggling a bit at my pun on words, and leave the office just as I'd found it. Cochran the great head of document security being none the wiser, I'm sure.

Since, according to his 'secret' calendar he was due to leave in about 30 minutes, I needed to get to the parking lot, there I would position myself between him and that red testosterone-made-metal vehicle he drives.

My dash to the surface left me with a few minutes to wait. So, using the Armor All™ and cloth I have handy I began a nearly daily, soothing ritual -- so calming. It was while wiping down the dash I finally spied my target.

Getting Cochran into the caddy was child's play. My superior intellect against his rough and tumble gut instincts, a foregone conclusion. I had but to mention 'dinner' and then get him to talk about himself. I had him to the door of my home before it even dawned on him where he was. I just shoved him though the entrance door, locking it behind me. Once inside his leaving was prevented by my keyed deadbolt, no one could leave without unlocking the door from the inside. And I had the only key. Not that he noticed; he was still bent on expounding on his titillating life story.

Tuning out the endless chatter Cochran was so good at providing, I lead him to the guest room where I opened the door and indicated that he enter. Which he did, following me to the bed. Using the switching on of the bedside lamp as a ruse, I opened the drawer of the nightstand. Reaching inside I concealed the object I removed in one hand while thumping a crystal decanter loudly against the polished period replica table with the other. The table that was a perfect match for the study, slender spindled four-poster flat canopied bed my soon to be patient sat on. This kind of French inspired Colonial piece could be equipped with bed curtains. It had been made for me by an ex-patient to my specifications, a childhood remembrance. An old desire come to life. Then my only friends were dreams.

"Hey, Mac. Is that cognac?"

'Why, yes it is. Very old cognac, the prefect bait.'

Silently I held it out to him, pausing for him to reach out for it, and when he had a firm grip on the decanter, I slipped the hidden object into place over his wrist. With a hip block I knocked him back onto the bed, smoothly fastening the other end of the now revealed handcuffs onto the nearest bedpost.

"Why Mac. What's this?"

He shook his cuffed hand now attached firmly to the bed. The sound of metal scrapping wood caused me to cringe at the damage to the gleaming wood, immediately I pushed that to the back of my mind, I had other concerns here.

"What does it look like?" I replied sitting on the edge of the bed, studying his reaction to my aggressive methods. He was calm. Too calm.

"Looks like padded cuffs, the kind used for sex kink," he leered and winked. This was not what I expected at all. Emotional explosions, yelling, kicking and biting, that I expected, not this. I looked down at the syringe I just pulled from my pocket wondering if I'd need it at all. Maybe I could talk him into this.

"Ah, Captain Cochran... Isaiah, may I call you Isaiah?" Softening my expression I laid a comforting hand on his forearm and leaned over him, trying to express compassion.

He smiled, lifted his other hand and gripping my shoulder and squeezed it gently, his eyes so full of acceptance that I nearly fell into them. Never had anyone been this open and welcoming to me.

"Sure, why not. And I'll call you Mac. Here get comfy." His gentle squeeze turned into a swift pull, I wound up laying on my right side, my left leg draped over the captain's hips, his left, free arm under me, his hand at the nape of my neck and his face was really close as he smiled at me. Those bottomless, accepting eyes bored into me, I couldn't help but breathe in his exhalations. My stomach quivered.

"Mac, are we getting frisky?" He hugs me closely to him, my chest pressed into his ribs as he rubs his head against mine. My instinctive reaction was to heave myself to my knees, once done I discovered to my surprise that I was straddling his hips; he has the most peculiar expression on his face. His eyelids lowered, peering up at me from under his lashes, like some smoldering damsel surrendering to the hero. That quiver in my stomach transformed into painful knots of apprehension.

His hips trust upwards between my spread legs, I felt a hard length and leapt straight up off the bed, banging my head on the canopy edge. Landing badly, I fell in a heap on the floor panting hard, fighting the nausea my now thoroughly upset stomach was reduced to.

"Ouch!"

At that exclamation, I pop into a sitting position and watch as he reaches toward his belt buckle and fumbles there. Oh my!

"Oooh, yesss."

...and pulls a flashlight out of his pocket, a little Mag-Lite®. Relief, shock, I don't know? I fall backwards, plopping onto the carpet and clamp a hand over my eyes, not to hide, but to watch. From between my fingers I observe my present project, cataloging everything he does, hoping to distract myself from killing him with my bare hands.

"That kinda smarted," Cochran rubbed gingerly at a spot very close to his groin in sublime relief. "Forgot that little guy was there. Hey, you okay there, Mac?" He was all concern, for me. He needed to look out for himself and I was going to help him.

"I'm fine. It's you that we have to worry about. But I'm here to help with that. So, just lay back and relax." My tone was soothing and calm as I slowly lumbered to my feet. Fetching a blanket I shook it out and attempted to cover him. One leg popped up dropping the blanket in midair.

"Whoa there Nellie. What's this about me not being fine?"

"Shh, no need to speak of this now. You need your rest; we have a heavy day tomorrow. We'll have a long talk about what's bothering you."

"Bothering me? Have you cracked?" Staring at me, his mouth fell open for a few seconds before snapping shut. "No, you think I'm cracked."

We stared silently at one another, but from the expression on his face my answer was plain.

"Heeey, Mac. I was just fooling around. You know how it gets when a couple of guys roughhouse, things get weird and a little out of control. I didn't mean to scare ya. Now come on, let me go."

One eye stuttered closed under the horrifying sounds of metal destroying the fine wood finish as he jerked at the restraint. Screwing up my resolve I ignored it and concentrated on the matter at hand, plastering on a mask of determination. That mask I found difficult to maintain as Cochran wiggled and writhed in a satire of come hither passion while puckering his lips, yet not whistling, and winking lewdly at me. Involuntarily I staggered back a step.

"I don't think so."

"Hey, what's that look? Not about the little woo-woo huh? What? What could this possibly be about?"

'Woo-woo,' is that what he called it? And what exactly does that mean. We definitely have to discuss his sex life; there is no doubt in my mind. Hmmm. Ah... remember he's ill, keep calm, and don't take anything personally. That urge to slap him has got to go. Ah... maybe, my expression is a tad too stern too? Deliberately I altered my expression, softening it a bit, relaxing the taut muscles. Have to be his rock. He needs a solid presence of boundless patience. And I will be that for him no matter how much I want to kill him right now.

"No, we'll talk about your actions tomorrow, after you've rested."

"My actions? What actions? Naw, tell me you don't mean our fact-finding mission with Manny. Tell me you don't mean that."

Calm, calm, calm. Remain calm. I just stared at him, smiling and reminding my self to stay calm. He just continued on and on and on. Nervously I fingered the syringe of sedative as second thoughts flooded me.

"Shit, you do mean that! Hey, what's with the needle? No, no, I'll shut up. We'll talk tomorrow. Turn off the light on the way out, would ya."

Dropping the syringe back into my pocket I acted on his suggestion. I really couldn't deal with this much more tonight.

"Hey, what if I have to pee in the middle of the night?"

That was it. It was either leave; or kill him. I fled.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

I'd been in some bad places in my life: Iraq, Iran and South America. Places where I'd been tortured by experts, or hurt bad enough to wish I had. Places I'd thought I couldn't endure. Even the Goa'uld had been unable to improve upon our home team baddies. I'd survived them. But sometimes... sometimes, the torture you're willing go through to survive is worse.

Iran had been one of those places. A failed jump and the awful pain of broken bones, alone, with no help or hope of any. I was forced to save my own ass. This was way too similar. Only this time I was older, and as much as I'd never admit it, not as strong. Dragging your broken body out of a desert in your twenties is totally different when you're twenty years older. I 'know' that if I were in the same pickle now, at my age, I was as good as dead.

That's a rather sobering thought. I've been accused of being suicidal; nothing could be further from the truth. Except for that one time, when life was just too painful and I was convinced I had no right to live. That was then, this is now. Even knowing my odds of surviving this wasn't even good enough to be called 'bad,' I would endure. I had too. Being stubborn has its advantages. Now I had more to live for. Yes, Sara was gone. And...Charlie. Never to be replaced. New people crowded into my heart, like Eric, Danny and Sam; and dozens more, as friends, before I stepped into the realm of responsibility, that numbered in the billions, if not hundreds of billions. Thor comes to mind and with him a whole other galaxy full of billions more. I wonder where his little gray butt is. Would be real nice having him visit right now. Yep, sure would.

All I need do is survive the night. Surely I can do that?

PBX 123's day is about the same length as that on Earth, the main difference is that on Earth the duration of day and night shifts in a rhythm throughout the year. Here, day and night were the same lengths -- always. That makes this world warm and being warm, my Earth bred body kept telling me that the night would be short, that I could get though it. That day wasn't far, and so was a chance at life. But physics had a different idea, instead of around seven hours; I had to keep alert and clinging to the cold stone for twelve.

The darkness and the unknown were burning my reserves at an alarming rate. Surviving the flood had already exhausted me. My muscles shook with it and the cold. Yes, cold, because I didn't have enough energy to keep my body heat up, what little energy I had was being used to keep me glued to the stone; preserving my life now, by decreasing my chances later. It was a game of Russian Roulette, and exposure was the bullet.

Closing my eyes against the phosphorescent glow of the rushing water below me, I tried to shut out the disturbing sounds, and the feel of the stone leaching away my life. Mentally and physically I reached out to the cold rock wall. Willing myself to become one with it. Teal'c would be proud.

**Dr Janet Frasier**

Dr John Slane proved to be as good as his word; he handled the colonel gently, with deliberate caution and true concern during the examination. Doing more than any specialist I'd ever seen. He personally wheeled our patient to and from each test, a test that he, himself did. Anyone else would have angered the technicians who knew the equipment intimately, but he forestalled that when he asked them to verify all his settings and sought their advice on the peculiarities of the equipment. Surprising them by not only explaining what he was doing, and hoped for, but further elicited their opinion on his approach to diagnosis. And scandalously, further asked them to tell him their interpretation of the test.

Later he explained, that no one knew it all, certainly not he. Those responsible for running diagnostic tests see more results than even the doctors responsible for diagnosing from those tests. Why should he forego such a wealth of knowledge just because they were not doctors? He wanted every advantage on his side in any battle to help his patient.

He handled the most frightening of problems. An emotionally incoherent half-aware colonel and he did it so well, immediately shielding the distraught man from view and calling for me. He spoke in soothing terms, stroking forehead or arm, urging me to take on the task as I was 'more familiar' to him than himself. Eschewing the use of additional sedatives that could be detrimental in the circumstances that Colonel O'Neill currently found himself, another doctor would have knocked the colonel out, not giving it a moments thought, their time worth more than the patient's health.

Dr John Slane was the epitome of the perfect physician.

I was confident enough of him and the colonel's safety with him that I left to perform my duties as CMO. My staff we now his devoted slaves. A chuckle escaped me at the thought. And just as quickly I sobered, it would be a long day before he completed his evaluation of Colonel O'Neill and deliver his recommendation of treatment. A very long day indeed.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Falling!

Rudely I was roughly jarred back to awareness. I'd dozed off, my foot slipped free of its tiny protuberance and my butt started sliding off the ledge it couldn't feel anymore. Quickly I pushed my shoulders and arms out, becoming a cork in a rock bottle. Clumsily I reestablished my holds. That was close, too close. The cold was getting worse; hypothermia was making sleep irresistible, undermining my ability to monitor myself. The only good the cold seemed to be doing was numbing the pain in my back; it had been a constant throbbing ache from the moment I'd leaped onto the rock.

The decrease in pain wasn't really a good thing; pain could keep me alert and awake, preventing the rest of my body from becoming numb. Which it had, numb, swollen and with a near absence of sensation. Without a sense of touch, unable to feel the rock, falling was becoming a real prospect in my future.

Without a watch – Lord knows what happened to it – I had little idea how long I'd sat here. I couldn't even use the stars to tell me of the passing of time. The storm clouds obscured them. The rain was nothing more than a drizzle now, but the wind was worse, tugging at me, pulling the breath from my lungs and scorching my face with its ragged cold claws.

CRACK!

Crap! That was close. Lightening... and water; getting fried had just been added to my list of don'ts. The darkness was full of green squiggles and fog. Hot on the heels of the boom, the sky fell.

It was like sitting in a waterfall. Even more heat was sucked out of my body. It's times like this that giving up, letting go, is most tempting. Letting what would happen, happen, is easier than not. My world was flashes of stark clarity and absolute darkness, like those old hand cranked movie machines at amusement parks, a relic of my parent's past. And I intended not to become one with the past despite the fatigue, numbness and muddy thoughts.

The intervals of light gave me something to occupy myself with; I watched the creek -- bigger now than most rivers -- as it rushed past below me. If I hadn't been so cold, so tired, I might have noticed sooner. Those floating trees were awful close, too close, soon to become closer than the lightening had been. Damn, the water was rising. I wanted very much to pull my feet up to the ledge I sat on, to pull myself into a corner of my little angular niche and cower. Even the strongest want to give in, we just refuse too.

Being too stubborn for my own good and enduring such discomfort and pain may not be enough. The water was gonna make the decision of if I lived till dawn or not. I had no choice, but to hang on and hope.

**Major Louis Ferretti**

"Damnit Jack. You know... you damn well know, I hate this."

"Sitting in the infirmary is not what I expected to be doing. I expected to go check up on this kid of yours. My team was primed and ready to go you know. Crap, I'm no good at this, you know that."

"But there was no way I could leave you like this. You didn't leave Kawalsky after that snake got him; you stayed and made sure that he was free of it. Too bad he had to die. And just for the freaking record: It is not your fault!"

"My being here 'is' your fault. You set the example I have to follow. Only this getting hurt has to stop. It's a lousy example and I have better things to do. Don't wanna be laying or sitting in the Infirmary, where just about anyone of rank can find me. It's just asking for it. You hear me, Jack! This has got to stop."

Sigh.

"Remember the new kid Danny Boy recommended to me? Sure you do, you twisted my arm to accept him onto my team. Remember? Well, I need to thank ya for that. He may be a civilian, but he's a spitfire. Knows his stuff too. Can translate almost as well as Danny can. I'm proud of that kid, he saved our asses twice already. He's not as flashy as your token civilian, but he's okay by me."

"Since you're a captive audience, so to speak, I got a question. Just where were you? No ya don't, don't clam up on me and give me that dumb act you're so fond of, I'm not one of those pea brains that believe for even a breath that you're that stupid. Wake up here and give me an answer. Jack... Okay, maybe you don't know 'exactly' what I'm talking about. Poker. Yes, poker night. You're a regular. Remember? Ah, come on, of course you remember. Didja forgot where. My place, I bought that beer you like and all. You never showed. I so should kick your ass. Walter cleaned me out."

"Have you like, been tutoring Walt or something?"

"Hey, it's not that much of a stretch of even my very limited imagination. You'd do it just to see him whip our butts, little tech sergeant like him cleaning out captains and majors. With you acting appalled during the whole put up job. Bet you'd laugh yourself silly once you climbed into that big truck of yours. I don't know what was worse, him leaving with our dough or that he tried to give it back. Sheez!"

"Too much honor in that little banty rooster. Too much."

"Ya know he's devoted to you? Don't ya? What... not saying anything here? Well... maybe you don't? Bet you don't have a clue how many of us on base would walk into the fire for you. Hmmm. Maybe it's a good thing you don't know. You have this damned complex ya know. Yes you do! You cannot control everyone else's destiny. Hell, you have hard enough time keepin' your own from killin' ya."

"Like here, now. Jack... I... I don't know what I'd do if we lost ya."

My promise didn't hold. I promised myself he'd only hear me being chipper. But damn it, I couldn't take his place, I didn't want to take his place. There weren't anyone that could. He was the best; the absolute best there was. He was my friend.

My eyes fell to our hands, fingers knotted together. I wasn't gonna let go, not now, not ever; I tightened my grip, determined.

"You hear me Jack, I'm not letting you go. So if you don't want me to kick your ass you better get out of that damned bed pronto."

"Come on Jack, I'm waiting here."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

What a time to discover that I can't walk on water. My footrest is going under fast, and with it my foot. Hope the current isn't bad against this rock. The lightning has tapered off; only occasionally does it light the canyon and reveal the height of the water. There seems to be fewer trees now. The rush and tumble of the flood has become a deceptive wall-to-wall sheet of muddy glass, only the occasional piece of debris reveals just how fast it's moving. Tempting, but oh so stupid, escape doesn't lie in those waters. From time to time I glimpsed the boils of the upwelling current, and where those exist also exists places where something on the surface simply vanishes, headed for the bottom. Where down along the floor of the canyon under that water is a grinding machine that can polish rock to a high sheen. Nothing survives that.

The storm is tapering off. But will it have an effect on the flood? Maybe. Maybe not.

Huddling as much as possible in the pouring raining, I try to get warm. Kinda hard with both legs dangling up to their knees in the water, lucky the current is sluggish here; I'm almost sitting in it. The wind died and is no longer sucking greedily at every calorie I can press into service, the rain and water taking it instead. The lightning is too far away to give me much more than ghost images of the canyon. Even the water is silent; the sounds are more felt than heard now. The thunk, thunk, thunk of hidden boulders registers on my contact with the stone wall, not though my ears. Only the occasional sucking sounds echo off the narrow walls, maybe something being drawn down into the current to disintegrate in the grinding gut the creek has become.

My fear, and the adrenalin that kept me partially awake, has died in the relative deceptive calm. Dawn shouldn't be far away. Not that I could tell, as the sky is still heavy with cloud, no stars are evident.

Tired, I'm really tired. I close my eyes, just for a second. Something tugs at my leg; lazily I move it, not even thinking what it could mean.

That meaning is made very plain by a sharp jerk as something catches at my pant leg, I pop right out of my little sanctuary feet first. Muddy water encloses me, stiff and cold I try to reach my leg as whatever it is pulls me down. Just as suddenly I'm free, free and totally disoriented, something unseen presses into me, not hard, not bruisingly, but relentlessly. Pushing me down, I'm pretty sure it's down. Hands connect with it and tell me it's a tree. Feeling my way in this murky hell of sand heavy mud I jokingly think of as water, everywhere I turn a limb blocks my escape. Seconds, only seconds have passed, but I'm already starting to black out, no oxygen, my lungs are bursting; and the dark abyss closes in from all sides.

Unable to struggle any longer, tree limbs push at me, one catches me under an arm and pulls up just as I black out.

**Teal'c**

Deep shadows clung to the vertical walls of the Canyon of the Chaapa'ai, its watery blue surface light reflected from those dark depths and illuminated my present goal in a fiery aurora -- O'Neill's Chosen.

Lt.VanSickle met me step for step as any warrior of equal rank would. Reminding myself he is Tau'ri, not Jaffa, and knows not to approach me as swiftly as dignity permits as a mark of respect to my experience and rank. As I do with O'Neill, a warrior so superior that I could never be his equal. To know that all on O'Neill's planet consider themselves as equal is difficult to remember, for experience tells me that some Tau'ri are less equal than others.

Behind me are the liquid sounds signal the arrival of burdened warriors, here to bring the most needed of supplies and to retrieve the wheeled vehicles that could not be returned until now. They will only be gone for a short time, returning briefly with additional supplies. GeneralHammond wishes no one to suffer in their necessary exile.

"Lt.VanSickle, you are well?"

We grasp forearm to forearm tightly, a warrior's greeting. His smile is forced, even to my alien eyes.

"As well as expected. How is the colonel?"

"He lives."

This young one cannot hide his pain as his chosen sire can, revealing just how my words have caused not only the pain I now see but most likely old pain well hidden behind the mask that O'Neill cares like a shield. Anger, most profound, fills me, for I have erred. Arrogantly I had believed their language to be my slave.

"Forgive me, I meant all is as well as can be. He will live, and there is hope in that. DrFrasier is unsure yet of just what damage O'Neill will suffer, she is hopeful. As am I."

"Thank you. I... I wasn't certain he would. Live, I mean.."

His eye sought the ground; leaning upon my staff weapon I gripped his shoulder with my free hand, the action pulling those mismatched orbs to my face.

"O'Neill has survived much in the past, he will survive this. Do not fear."

"I'm sure you're right Teal'c. Come on join me for breakfast."

He leads me silently across the torn turf and up the dark incline to one of the uppermost openings. Inside is a communal dinning area. Behind us has trailed near half of his team, all silent and somberly watching this young one beside me. Quickly we are seated, as highly honored guests would be, served first and watched with breathless anticipation for our approval or disapproval of the offered food. Though simple, it is excellent. Visibly I express my pleasure of the repast, yet the silence remains.

Not until Lt.VanSickle actually consumes his first taste does the crowd move, going about their business. Soon the room is filled with hopeful banter. Individuals come and go, eventually returning to join in the common meal, even accommodating the warriors I had brought.

All is not well with O'Neill's Chosen.

To all appearances I am enjoying my meal, but I watch the young warrior beside me and those who I know support him. It is they that tell me that something is amiss; their eyes constantly light upon him. And at that time, some show their worry and concern. And even love. This emotion is not always recognizable, but here, this group holds Lt.VanSickle tightly to their hearts, like those Tau'ri I have been privileged to observe interacting with their children. Showing the look I have seen on O'Neill's face when dealing with a child. A love translated to a fierce protectiveness, leading to the offering of their very lives to preserve those young helpless ones in their care.

O'Neill's Chosen speaks little during the meal, only excusing himself after meeting the gazes of all those that watch his every move, as if challenging them to interfere. And perhaps he is, for I have also learned that love can bind, so tightly as to choke. From the carefully blank looks he received that is not the case here. Quickly he leaves, obstinately to see to the movement of the vehicles to the 'gate in preparation of their departure.

Thoughtfully chewing the last of my meal, I casually rise, bringing my soiled implements to the designated place and person currently in charge of their cleansing for the next meal. Nearby is one I know will reveal the thoughts of the whole regarding Lt.VanSickle – CaptainEllis; turning, I head for the man and stop before him.

"CaptainEllis."

"Teal'c, you've scarcely been gone."

"Yet much seems to have happened during my absence. How fares your young leader?"

My meaning is deciphered, he beckons me from the room, and I follow him out onto the ramp and up to the desolate plateau. There we stop, gazing at the few trees that remain along the now small creek surging along its river sized bed, strewn with downed and dying trees, trees that had sheltered my warrior brother less than two hands of days in the past.

CaptainEllis does not speak and I have found it best to wait; that which must be said can be difficult to frame and more so to utter. The gentle warm breeze from the unseen lake is soft with moisture, caressing my skin pleasantly. Long ago I had learned to take such small rewards at every opportunity, greedily I drank deeply of this world's touch.

"You are correct, much has happened in your absence. Not all of it good, not that anyone would ever see it."

"An event has happened that is not good? Does it, as I fear, involve the young lieutenant?"

"For an alien you seem to be able to read humans well."

"I thank you for such a compliment, but it is unwarranted. For if I were able to read the peculiarities of you Tau'ri well I would have never left when I did. What has befallen Lt.VanSickle?"

"Ah... nothing physical, he is recovering well. We have, all of us, insisted on proper rest and food. Yet even in the limited time we allow him to work he overtires himself. It is his mental state that has taken a bad blow and work is his penitence."

"For what does he punish himself for?"

"He believes that he hurt Colonel O'Neill, physically and emotionally. And in so doing he has lost his friendship and convinced himself that his only course of action is to live up to the colonel's ideals as much as he can. While resigning himself to never being able or be worthy of reconciliation."

"The young can be so foolish."

"Then, there is a chance that he and O'Neill can be friends?"

"Our young leader has done my warrior brother a grave disservice. For once O'Neill has accepted one into his heart, only the vilest of acts will harden it against the accepted one."

"It's just in the lieutenant's head, O'Neill is okay with what he did?"

"Precisely. This must be remedied; it will only harm O'Neill. One thing I know without doubt about my brother of the heart, he will blame only himself for this. He has not the energy for it such foolishness, he needs to see to his own well-being."

"I'm not sure how you'll do that. I talked to the boy till I was blue in the face, couldn't budge him in this."

"There is a solution, it is drastic, but it must done."

"What?"

"Better that you do not know. What I am about to do could well result in my ass being kicked, as O'Neill is fond of saying."

"If it solves this, I wish you luck."

"Indeed."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Being awakened by someone smacking you in the face isn't fun and I really don't want to open my eyes to face the music. Bluish-white ice, cold, and clouded breathes; memory conjures what I would see. What I know is there. Worst of all is that look of guilty shame on Sam's face. Better I had died when the 'gate tossed me out, better she found a corpse then watch me become one.

"Too hard," I mutter, hoping she'll stop now that I've said something. She must be really worried, cause it stings every time she hits me, more like a switch than a hand. Must be the cold.

"Stop," I plead, shamed at the whine in my hoarse whisper.

There's brightness beyond my eyelids, just another day in ice cube hell. Marshalling my positive "I'm fine!" mask I force my eyelids up.

My heart starts pounding and my breath quickens, awakening pain in a place far removed from where I'd expected it.

Where the hell was I?

Blurrily I lift my head, and blink around me. I'm pinned, encased -- immobile. And wet?

This is the ice planet from hell?

"Sam?"

"Daniel."

"Teal'c..."

Unable to hold my head up anymore it drops back into something cold, hard and wet. And I drift away.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Nervously I find myself turning pages, not even noting my actions. The chair is hard and the room is empty. Halfheartedly, I asked myself why I was here. The answer is obvious. This is Jack's room and this is my time to comfort him, even if he's not available for me to do so. He was here earlier. Twice now he's been wheeled out for tests. Janet and Spike. A giggle slips from my lips.

Spike? Who'd have thought that such a prestigious doctor of medicine, a legend even, would have such a nickname. Well, I though it was strange until I set eyes on him. Army, he was Army, very obviously a soldier. He may be retired, but like Jack, but some men are always warriors, for as long as they live. He was Doctor Major John Slane, better known in the military as Major 'Spike.'

Lou Ferretti, on one of his frequent drop-ins, and accompanied by a visible urge to disappear, was able to explain the nickname. He wasn't there or anything when it happened, but he had heard it on that extremely accurate grapevine that exists within the ranks of the military.

According to Lou the good doctor had one very, very short tour during Desert Storm. A glitch really, accidental orders sent him to a front line unit, where he showed a unique way to calm hysterical men.

On one fateful day, a frightened young man, a boy really, awoke during triage. So confused that he thought he had been captured, he raised his weapon, a weapon he should not have had, and leveled it at the doctors and nurses working feverously over the wounded. There had been a transport taken out by landmines, time was short, men were bleeding to death.

Dr. Slane happened to be behind the confused boy, dropping to his belly in the dirt he crawled toward him and spoke.

"Help. Please, help me."

Those words, said in a pained voice from the man in the dirt drew the boy's attention enough to swing the weapon towards him. Not a word was uttered. Only a hand stretched out toward the armed youth, who also stretched out a hand. In seemly obvious pain, pulling himself by use of that once outstretched hand, the other useless and dragging at his side the man pulled himself to the youngster who eventually grasped the hand and pulled. But the downed man was too heavy, so loosening his grip on the weapon he let it swing on its harness to grasp with both hands the wounded man and pulled him close. Only then was the farce revealed, the useless arm swung up and plunged down against the armed youth's thigh. His fingers depressing the plunger on a syringe full of sedative as he pushed himself to his knees to hug the youth to his chest, trapping the weapon safety between them and held him as he succumbed to the drug.

The syringe projected from the young man's leg like a spike, it's drug pinning him to the ground.

From that day on Doctor Major Slane was known as Major Spike.

Ferretti told me the story with awe in his voice, so much so that he forgot to be antsy about leaving. That told me a lot about how Dr Slane was regarded by his fellow brothers in arms. Highly.

And from watching the man work with and for Jack, I too was beginning to think highly of him. He may be the stuff of a small living legend, but he was unknown to me, to us. Here I would stay until I was sure Jack was going to be okay with this man, I think I needn't have worried.

"Daniel?"

So lost in thought was I that the word startled me.

"Spike?"

"Don't worry so much, he's with Gino. I just wanted to let you know he woke up disoriented and he's still a little agitated. I'm glad you're here to help; I understand the two of you are good friends. He needs a friend right now." My shock and concern had to have been evident, his face softened and he smiled. "You good to go Daniel?"

"Ye... yes, no problem, just unexpected, that's all."

"Good."

Gino and Spike wheeled the bed into the narrow private room I'd seen the inside of more often than my own apartment. Jack was restless, his movements slow, but not quite aimless, but like he was treading water. He panted and gasped as I took up a position that allowed me to rub my hand across his upper chest, massaging his shoulders and chest. Shushing and shooing, makes comforting noises, trying to calm him. It wasn't helping, but I wouldn't give up.

His movements... I swear he appeared to be struggling in water. How strange was that?

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

_Arms and legs feebly churning, I come to unable to breathe. Water fills my mouth and I panic. One arm is draped over something that pulls me up. Air! Coughing out water, spitting and sputtering, I gulp in the air. On my third gulp I get water, whatever had hauled me up out of the water had dunked me down into it again. Lungs screaming for air, hands uselessly batting at the water..._

Initially I jerked awake, pain exploded from my lower back and reverberated though my body. All the time I was spitting, trying to get water out of my mouth I clawed at the obstacle that kept hitting me in the face. So bright, my eyes took a long while to adjust and longer for my brain to tell me just where the hell I was.

Sucking air as deep and as often as possible I fought back the panic of awakening from a dream of drowning. A dream that I knew wasn't that, but a remembrance.

I'd survived.

My half-hearted, lack-luster elation on still being alive was short lived. Looking around – a difficult task because the sun was in my eyes – I discovered that I was trapped.

Buried to my waist in damp sand, and pinned to the canyon wall by a thick, bare, crooked waterlogged limb. It loomed over me, a still limber dead, side shoot vibrated in my face, showing me that the tree wasn't as immobile as I. For it regularly lurched and hit me on the cheek. It was irritating the crap out of me.

In a fit of ill considered rage, despite the pain such a struggle created I locked both hands around it as close to the parent limb as possible and twisted. And twisted, and then twisted some more, cutting my hands, creating red welts across them. Now saw the world though a red haze of anger.

Then it was done, I held it dumbly, drops of blood falling from its twisted fibrous butt. In disgust I flung it as hard as I could, it arced to land in muddy water, swift, moving muddy water. Shit, I'd forgot about the flood. How...?

Then the most unusual sensation, the sand began sucking me – and the tree – down.

**Dr Janet Frasier**

"Here."

"A fracture?"

Dr Slane and I studied the x-ray and MRI images of Colonel O'Neill's spine. Gooseflesh rose along my arms and I hugged them close. This did not sound good; but explained the lack of response in the Colonel's legs. Guiltily I was relieved that he was still groggy enough to not realize just how badly he was injured. He spent most of his time sleeping, still gripped by drugs and his injuries, only waking for brief times. Times that I could tell he was elsewhere and he was suffering there.

"Yes, hairline, and only partially though the plane of the vertebra. We couldn't ask for a better break. Keeping him quiet for the time it takes to heal will be all it needs."

"That is good news."

Closely watching his face while he spoke told me he had bad news too.

"Unfortunately it ends there. The soft tissue damage is the danger in this case. The blunt trauma prevented a broken back, whatever the object was it was too large to deliver its energy to one spot to affect any more damage to the bone than it did; what it did accomplish was an acute disruption of circulation in the thin layer of flesh overlaying the spine. If the blow had been slightly to either side, the nerve damage would have been irreparable."

"We're just talking severe swelling and no nerve damage. Then why doesn't he have better control of his legs?"

"Initially I'd say the blow stunned his spinal cord and exiting nerve junctions. Not hard enough to press bone and nerve into a bruising contact, only tissue and nerve. Very good for him. What is bad is that the soft tissue is swelling, again pressing on the nerves. Pressure is the enemy here, the longer the pressure is present the more likely he is to lose function."

This was bad, just as pressure in the enclosed cavity of the skull can kill, swelling along the spine can kill too. Not the person, but the nerves that give that person control over their body.

"Your initial treatment was dead on. His dehydration was a blessing in disguise. You may not have recognized the danger to his spine during hydration, but your caution to reduce the intracranial swelling of his morphine overdose gave us time to recognize the problem and devise correct treatment."

"But was it enough time?"

"That, Dr Fraiser, remains to be seen."

"What are the colonel's chances?"

"Good, barely. His recovery is more up to him than us. His body is running a race with itself, we can help there, providing drugs to reduce swelling, nutrition to promote vascular regeneration and therapy to help remove the excess fluid."

"That's tricky, most therapy has the opposite effect, causing more swelling."

"Correct, but necessary. It will be a fine line to walk. Therapy will help provide healthy blood vessels that can remove the fluid and reduced the pressure."

'And the fracture, the good news, will limit movement for weeks."

"As I said Dr Frazier it is a fine line. I'm hopeful of a useful recovery."

"Useful? You don't believe a full recovery is possible."

"No, I don't really foresee that happening. There is no empirical evidence, but I believe he has already suffered damage. Such damage rarely reverses itself. You need to brace the good colonel, he will be debilitated."

"How much?"

"Mandatory retirement."

"Oh..."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Damn, this was just not good. My stupor cleared almost instantly. Where I was getting the adrenaline, I didn't know? One heart-stopping incident after another would be the death of me yet.

Being sucked down by sand was not a good feeling, it was liquid enough for me to slip into, but so heavy that I couldn't push, or swim or claw my way back out. The sand's surface shone with excess water, acting like a mirror, blinding me further. My face was hot as a squinted against it. I found my arms wrapped around that limb that had pinned me to the canyon wall, pulling myself up, hopefully faster, than it was sinking. It wasn't going down as fast, if I could prevent myself from sinking by clinging to it I might still be near the surface when the sand sank below the level of the flood. That... that might give me the opportunity to work free of it.

My chemical strength deserted me so fast I might have fallen, if I hadn't had such a death grip on that tree. My world narrowed to that grip, I rose and fell with the whims of the sand and water. Drifting in and out, never really aware, just hanging on, riding out the pain from my back, the cold of my legs and blistering heat on my face. I dreamed of torture, nice mundane, degradation and blinding pain in an environment of controlled mayhem.

I clung until I faded.

Somewhere deep inside I knew that death waited and I accepted that. I would only make it wait as long as I could.

And I knew that would be soon.

Go to: CHAPTER NINETEEN


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**Captain Montgomery Ellis**

Our plan didn't backfire, but it didn't quite work the way we anticipated either.

Most of us had been horrified by the toll that recovering Colonel O'Neill had taken on Lt. Van Sickle. We all knew that Eric was still recovering from the injury that took his eye and part of his hand. Some of us noticed the depression he fought because of that loss. Fewer of us noticed the budding friendship between him and the colonel. Only one of us disapproved; and painted it to be a sick perversion. The only perversion was in even thinking it.

Lt. Dennis Wong and I knew there was no perversion, only the deep longing of a father for a son and son for a father. This strong need set the cornerstone of trust between our two leaders. A trust so bright and shiny that our young lieutenant was convinced that it had drowned out there in PBX 123's idea of a storm drain. That somehow, he had betrayed the colonel. Done something that he believed the man could not or would not over look, something so bad that it killed that trust. I'm sure that nothing quite that wrong happened out there.

It had to have been here, when they were alone. Something happened in that stone vault during the attempt to kill the colonel. Perhaps when Eric was forced to break his new friend's arm? Dazed and injured he did his level best; far more than I could have done. Yet he blames himself deeply for something and seems to be convinced that the friendship is over.

To see our leaders brought to such a state united us, bound us together. Such new ties need a direction, and since Colonel O'Neill was taken home by Teal'c, only Lt. Van Sickle remained. We were determined that no further harm would touch him. That was our mistake. We crowded, hung and suffocated him. Oblivious to his nature, we committed a cardinal sin, we reduced him to a child in our midst and we were his babysitters. With his subordinates further wounding his pride on top of the weight of his own self-disgust, he did the only thing left to him. He ran.

That stung like a slap in our collective faces. Our outpouring of allegiance treated as if we'd offered the vilest of insults. Collectively we stood stunned for a moment, and then as one, we spread out and searched; and as luck would have it he had not run far. Singly we all arrived at the cliff overlooking the now sodden grasslands in which a lake now hid beneath muddy floodwaters.

Having been among the first to arrive, I watched as the young man perched precariously on the cliff edge stooped lower and stiffened more with each arrival. His back was to us, yet he reacted to each new addition as if a heavy sack of sand were added to his shoulders each time. Dennis suggested that we leave our leader to brood; he had run to seek solitude, needing it to cope with the events that threatened to break him. Such is the weight of leadership.

Only Lt. Dennis Wong and I remained, hidden and watching as darkness fell. We watched as Eric drew in on himself, physically making himself small and insignificant. And as the first heart wrenching sob hiccupped though the dark in which he had finally achieved invisibility, I moved unerringly towards the cliff edge, totally unable to see it or the person whose cries of emotional pain split the darkness.

All I knew was here was a pain as my wife had suffered when one of those children we hosted for a short time had died only days after going on to another haven, one that the small girl had fled from in fear and died in that flight. The love of my life grieved in the same manner as our leader did now. Then I had held her until her salt tears had flushed the guilty agony from her soul. With each sobbing breath and slick tear I blamed myself for her pain, she had wanted to keep the small girl and I had not. I vowed to never be the cause of such pain again.

Eric's pain was not my doing, but only the cruel could stand and ignore it. I sought to comfort him in my rush to his side. Dennis followed close on my heels, his motive I could not say, but he was unstinting of his physical comfort and calming words as was I. Between the two of us he held a man I would trust with my life, here reduced to a sobbing child in the face of overwhelming events he did not understand; and in the loss of one he had grown to love and need. Both of us felt Eric respond to our touches and words, eventually tiring and sliding into a deep sleep

With the help of the others, some who had returned when we had not followed, we left our leader asleep, safely back from the cliff edge he had in a way fallen from. We all agreed his breakdown was from exhaustion; and from the bony feel of his thin body, lack of food.

Later we agreed that he would submit to our care and so the note was written and left for him to find.

Eric did as we asked, he ate and rolled over and slept. He lazed the day away. Once in awhile, just to let him know he was needed, one of us would go to him and report, or ask what they should do. From afar I stood rubbing the crystal face of his watch, our hostage to his good behavior, under the pad of my thumb, watching. Dennis conspired to be there with me. He, rather than I, should have done the watching, he's the one with the education to spot emotional problems. But those sobs still rang in my skull, I would not leave, I could not.

Dennis finally approached him at dinner, personally bringing it. He stayed as Eric ate, and then helped him gather up the blankets that padded the hard stone and headed towards me. Both of them stopped within a few feet. Eric looked me right in the face, I couldn't tell the live eye from the artificial. This I had seen before, but on O'Neill. The mask.

The lieutenant politely asked for his watch, which I gave him in exchange for his burden of blankets. He turned and strode towards the ramp, headed no doubt for the living areas within the alien complex.

"That doesn't look good," I mumbled out, my eyes watching the stiff back recede at the behest of not quite fuming strides.

"You are correct, it is not good. He is angry," Lt. Wong responded as he too watched Lt. Van Sickle disappear in the distance.

"At us?"

"Curiously, no. He is angry at himself it seems and I was unable to discover why." Dennis's eyes locked onto mine, he appeared subdued. Was their conversation that bad?

"What were you able to discover?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You and he talked for nearly an hour out there. And he said nothing?" Showing my inability to grasp such a concept by holding and lifting up my hands, palms up in a shrug and stared at him intently, waiting for an answer.

"Only of the business at hand. He has become astonishingly single-minded literally over night. More so than previously." Dennis's eyes whipped back towards the ramp; in the lowering light it could not be seen. "I tried to broach many of the subjects that would answer to his state of mind, even resorting to out and out blatantly asking. Our young wolf pointed out that the events between he and Colonel O'Neill were no one's business but theirs. I fear our young leader has religion."

"Religion? Out here?"

"He worships at the alter of O'Neill. I fear that in his mind he has lost the man's respect and friendship. All he has left is the man's ideals and those are now his bible.

Dennis is a very deep person and what he was saying was in that kind of code that the well educated can be trapped in. I'm a more down to earth type and speak plainly, never ascending to that height of communication. His words were explained by watching Eric Van Sickle and what he did.

_Driven_ is what I would say. The project and completing it to the satisfaction of Colonel O'Neill was his only goal. From his first wakening to when he literally collapsed from fatigue deep in the alien night, his one-day of rest was soon burned from his already exhausted body. We did all we could to slow him down, even using small deceits to do so. But finally the only weapon we had was to become more driven than our leader, accomplishing tasks before Lt. Van Sickle could conceive them.

Teal'c returned only a few days after taking Colonel O'Neill back to the SGC, but in those few days more work had been done than twice our number should have been capable of. We were far beyond any goals originally set down in the mission instructions I'd seen, that any of us had seen, except perhaps Eric. He wrote the instructions; he had to know more, nearly as much as O'Neill the true architect of this mission. As penance for his imagined sins, Eric was attempting to bring a dream to fruition, perhaps prematurely.

Teal'c might be the one to speak to regarding Eric. Like the others we all followed the big Jaffa and our leader to breakfast and watched. Dennis and I exchanged a few words, enough for me to explain that I would talk to our visitor about our problem with Eric. Perhaps he could provide advice on what we should do.

From across the starkly lit room Eric Van Sickle did a remarkable imitation of a whole person, a person with no problems, only solutions. Only, I don't think that Teal'c was buying it. Not that I could tell from that face of chiseled stone, no ripples of emotions passed across it. My only clue was his constant scanning of everyone else in the room, only paying attention to the lieutenant when the conversation warranted it, eating his meal his distraction to his observations.

Those piecing dark eyes skewered me more than once, each time for a longer interval. Feeling as if the whole room knew he was asking questions with those all-knowing alien eyes. My futile glances at the others told me no one took notice of these demands. Following Teal'c's lead my meal became an all-consuming task.

"CaptainEllis."

"Teal'c, you've scarcely been gone," I choked out, startled by his silent and unexpected approach.

"Yet much seems to have happened during my absence. How fares your young leader?"

That question lead to a long walk and an even longer conversation. A difficult conversation, one during which the huge dark man attentively listened to and commented on; comments that relieved me greatly. He was sure that the Colonel still considered the friendship alive and well. But I hadn't thought what Eric's mental state could do to the injured man. Both were so alike I kicked myself for not seeing it. O'Neill would worry himself sick if he knew about this problem, it needed to be solved. And Teal'c seemed to have a good idea what that solution should be.

It's just that his declaration seemed so dire coming from him. If anyone else had said it the way he had I'd know for sure that a dramatic bend was being put to the words by the speaker's ego. We humans are good at that. I know the solution and only I can fix it. We can be such drama queens. But this man, this Jaffa, is alien. I'm darn sure he doesn't do drama queen and wouldn't have the faintest idea what it would mean to boost his own importance though future acts of kindness.

Perhaps it's me and what I feel from him. He is a Jaffa, a perfect picture of the enemy, and that air of controlled danger that is his presence might have something to do with it. I know I feel uneasy around him, even when he goes out of his way to reassure me that he is not a danger to me. I trust him. I do. My body may be telling tales out of school, but my mind sees how O'Neill trusted him, even as ill and incoherent as he was. That cannot be faked. I'll trust Teal'c. He will remedy this. But, I wish I knew how.

**Teal'c**

Living among the Tau'ri forced me to learn their ways quickly, yet much stood in the way of that understanding. Their own words the highest of walls against my divining of a race of humans who I mistook to be as any other I had interacted with. This proved to be one of the biggest and most shameful of tactical mistakes of my life. Only the knowledge that Bra'tac and O'Neill are such unique individuals curbs my admonishment; Bra'tac for his insight into O'Neill; and O'Neill for who he is, a man like no other.

O'Neill does not lie. This is a true and untrue statement. Only Master Bra'tac was able to clarify it for me, his infinite wisdom looking into the heart and soul of my avowed brother of the heart. His declaration that O'Neill possessed the honor of a Jaffa Master, a statement he would deny to this death, illuminated his difference from his own race. Since then I have discovered others who possess this trait, GeneralHammond, MajorCarter, DanielJackson, DoctorFrasier, and yet others.

The language of the Jaffa and the human slaves of our false gods is old and unchanged since the beginning of our history. It is simple, containing words of singular meaning. The language of the Earth is new, rooted in the old, but alive and changing, growing. One word has many meanings, sometimes even meaning more than is agreed upon by the users of this quicksilver speech.

What the Tau'ri say and what they ultimately do is not usually what I envision. This gap in understanding can be narrowed though observation and comparison with the words. I understood Captain Ellis' words, but did I understand his meaning? That was my next task, to test my understanding though observation.

**Captain Monty Ellis**

Knowing that Teal'c seemed to have a plan to deal with Lt. Van Sickle's little problem proved to be such a huge relief that I hadn't realized just how much it had been weighing on me, on all of us. After discussing my conversation with the big Jaffa with Dennis, we both agreed to split up and tell the others. Everyone was so tired and worn out, but each of us was determined to outlast our stubborn team leader.

So it was that after the majority of the day had passed and just before our break for dinner Teal'c decided that it was time that he returned to the SGC. All of the men who had brought supplies had returned long before lunch. A wonderful lunch, the very last of our fresh consumables had been rationed as much as possible over the last couple of days and had run out just the day before. It was amazing how much the loss of fresh bread and fruit were so quickly missed.

Dennis and I arrived together for lunch at our prearranged a time. Each of us had spoken to half of our group. My half included Major Drake, who, to my relief, barely grunted at the information I gave her. Not that I told her a thing about Eric, but I was duty bound to inform her of the supplies, some earmarked for her use on her part of the project. Our mission had been expanded to take advantage of our extended stay. General Hammond himself had penned the additional goals.

Lt. Van Sickle immediately swung into overdrive, determined to achieve these new goals before the end of the day. He was everywhere and nowhere at once, he and his shadow. Teal'c was always within sight of the lieutenant. He watched unobtrusively, so much so that I probably missed him most of the first half of the morning. He and Eric only exchanged a few words during lunch.

At lunch Teal'c requested permission to explore the tunnels alone, I watched as Eric considered it and approved his request. None of us had ever found anything remotely dangerous, except for that shunt valve for the reservoirs. And it was highly unlikely that anyone, especially me, would go near it until we understood its use better. That was Drake's problem, she may be a pain in the ass but she was a good engineer. She would figure it out.

We all knew that Teal'c would leave before the day was out, we just didn't know when. We wanted to be there when he left. And I still wondered at just what the man had in mind to straighten out our young leader's misconceptions. Dennis was the one that let me know everyone was headed for the gate. I limped out of the dark ramp, trailing behind a much faster Dennis Wong, our gentle giant of a lieutenant. Again I wondered why the man wasn't at least a major by now.

Breaking out into the dying light of day in the 'gate Canyon I saw the Stargate was active and increased my limping gait to get closer. Teal'c stood with his back to the blue shimmer, facing Lt. Van Sickle. They seemed to be conversing; actually Teal'c seemed to be conversing. Eric stood there, rigid. Almost as if he were being dressed down. I cursed my disability, this damned gimp knee that slowed me down so much. My eyes were on the ground more than on the two men standing before the 'gate.

When I nearly reached the edge of the stone platform that the 'gate stood on I raised my eyes. Teal'c appeared to be looking directly at me. I looked hard at him, his staff weapon in his left hand, parallel to the ground, trying to figure out just what was going on. Wasn't he a bit close to the 'gate I thought? Then he nodded at me, looking straight at me. I blinked in surprise as his eyes bored into me.

Then it happened.

'My God!' Smiling hugely, I thought, 'He did have a solution.'

**Major Sam Carter**

"_Mandatory retirement."_

"_Oh..."_

Again the horror and pain strike. Again I live the moment outside of Janet's office where I overheard her and the specialist speaking of Colonel O'Neill's condition. Again I realize that he will not be coming back from this one. Again my heart explodes, sharp shards cutting though my soul. Jack!

Lurching upright, tearing at the clinging bedclothes, gasping for breath in the dark vacuum of my on base quarters, wet hot drops spatter my arms in their frantic movements to free myself only to slip over the edge of the narrow mattress and crash to the floor tightening their grip.

Hitting the cold concrete shocks me from the emotional grip of my nightmare, and I lay there face down releasing the last of the tears to the floor I can only feel. Ruthlessly I calm my sobs. With practiced deliberate care I force the woman who is Sam back to that place deep well within me. Weakness dissipates though the now sure, swift movements that work at disentangling my body from the sheets. No thoughts impinge my blank-as-a-slate mind during this by-rote task done with military precision, a task I could do with my eyes shut, and have. Training and assurance ascendant, loose thoughts locked away where they belong, Jack's anguished face denied by Major Carter's cool unflappable persona. Feelings for 'him' locked away again in 'that room.'

When the bed was made to specs, taut enough to bounce a quarter on, I turned to gather what I will need to shower, my mind already checking mental lists of tasks that Major Carter needed to perform. It would be a long day of research and study as long as SG-1 is on stand-down.

Only under the stinging spray of water, a shade too cool, does my mind cross that boundary between Major Carter and Sam. Never before has this boundary been so blurred; only 'he' can do that. Sam's upwelling of emotions nearly drowns me. It is times like this that I wonder how I can pass my required psych evals. There are too many people inside my head: Samantha, Sam, Sammy and Carter. Someone different for each important person in my life, except one. For him, and only him, do all my personalities clamor for. For him I can be whole, a welding of the many.

That piece of me that emerges in his presence clearly fits into the hole his soul contains, like a key to a lock. Just as he makes me one person, I know I can make him whole also. That 'something' he freely gives I can turn back around and fill in that void within him. But to do that I must remain, he may create the key, but it is I, and only I, who can entice the lock to embrace it. Once joined it must be forever.

This lock, that is Jack, has suffered the loss of more than one key in his life. Each loss ripped away the inner man and little survived. So selfless is he that he would risk that small bit for my sake. I would not.

My wandering thoughts again cross through that overheard knowledge that I'm base-bound for one reason, that my CO has been injured so badly that he will never return to lead us – or me. Though the lock has been broken, perhaps the key will still fit? Before me lies so many possibilities, some of a truly fantastic nature that brings a burning at the center of my very being. And surprise. That burning is very real and very physical. It should be familiar, as I have awakened in the night in the afterglow of it, my mind still bright with images of him. My skin smoldering with his dreamed of touches, his moans at my own caresses still echoing in my ears. So real. Yet not.

I turn off the water with a savage twist of the wrist. Those thoughts are forbidden. I am Major Carter.

Yet, Sam's fear crowded up that well in the floor of my mind where she lives, to overtake and drown Carter. Staggering I finally reached my locker to cling to its open door. Sam's fear releases the same fear that Carter holds, that Sammy holds, as does Samantha. All of us know the root of this fear. That Colonel O'Neill – Jack – will revert to an old strategy to deal with the shattering of his life. His son's death only a handful of years earlier was the last time, it is his solution to that that scares us – me.

Busily my hands do the necessary tasks to dress, my mind full of the tragedies that this man has borne in his life. How could anyone survive it? He told me himself in Antarctica. Sara. For the love of his wife, then Captain Jack O'Neill crawled across the burning desert; dragging his broken body though scorching sand and debilitating pain to return to the woman he loved. A miraculous wonder fills me at this superhuman feat of devotion. To be loved by a man capable of that...

'His ex-wife,' whispers among the inhabitants of my head. Anger builds as the wonder sours. She left him. How could any woman leave that kind of devotion? Even the death of their son, even her thinking the unthinkable, that Charlie died needlessly. And Jack was to blame. Jack lived for Sara and Charlie. How could she believe he could endanger his son like that?

Now, he has neither. Only us, SG-1, but only until he is discharged for medical reasons. Then will he have no one, _he_ will see to that.

Jack, like any man, has flaws. This is his flaw; he will push away everyone and everything that means anything to him. Convinced he is unworthy of another's friendship, devotion... love. Even my love.

I don't care if he'll never be the physically strong man he was. Lying there paralyzed, he's still the man I love.

Convincing him of that fact will be the problem. That I loved him, that I love him, that I will always love him. I don't give a damn if he's unable to move, just as long as his heart beats I want him. Even cold in the ground I'd want him, even enough to join him in that final slumber.

Convincing him to submit, that will be the trick.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Death wasn't so bad; makes me wonder just why I'd fought against it most of my life.

The pain was gone. Couldn't actually feel anything; except – warmth.

Death had at first been very cold; and having been close to it before, I recognized its chill. This warmth was a pleasant surprise.

Why had I been cold for so long? Was that some kind of penance for my transgressions in life? Was there a heaven and hell?

That slow lazy thought gave me a moment of true regret, though not for long. Because with the regret came the reason. My son, my soul, my bequeathment to my race had died. Having been the instrument I took that blame, but that higher being that had used me refused blame. That I could not forgive. So, I was sure that if there were a heaven I wasn't there.

I really didn't want to leave. No responsibility. No guilt. No nothing in fact. The weight was gone, for the first time in a long time I wasn't bowed under it. No longer did I need to calculate every thought or move to accommodate it. So, yeah, I was gonna ignore all the sensations and sounds that were intruding.

It was the pain that finally stirred me, bought back by the warmth. This must be hell, for I had enjoyed my respite too much, now I was paying for it. Is that a voice? Yes, it is, there was something about the voice and the touches that came with it.

Slowly and with infinite care I reached out to the past, to life that felt so close, yet lost to me. Surprise suffused me when I felt and heard my own feeble cough and just for good measure I tried again. I coughed.

Theologians speak of revelations, well that cough was my mine. Not dead, but alive. I was alive.

Prying open the windows to my soul, I was greeted with blinding brightness, shadows and colors seen though a distortion that shocked me by dripping across my cheek. Tears. I blinked them away and focused on the voice. The shadows and colors resolved; and recognition flashed though me and that engendered a different pain. Somehow I'd found my way home. Or to those who are home. Longing had me reaching out and I spoke.

"Eric."

**General George Hammond**

It just isn't possible, I'd like to be there for as each team returns, but there's 24 hours in a day, seven days in a week and 52 weeks in a year. There is only one of me. I try. If I could I'd be there for every man, but reality forces me to prioritize my presence. This homecoming I made sure I was available for, as I had for as many of SG-1's homecomings as possible. They are the flagship team, they are first contact, and Galactic diplomacy follows them like a bad smell. Even if this is only one member of SG-1, I've learned never to underestimate the strange attraction for trouble that Colonel O'Neill's team is famous for.

Therefore, I was there when Teal'c stepped though. He wasn't alone. Was he bringing trouble with a capital T? One very large hand was clamped around Lt. Van Sickle's upper arm. The young man looked white as a sheet.

"Teal'c?" I spoke after toggling the mike on; the Jaffa's head came up as he zeroed in on me, and then dipped in a slight bow of respect. He seemed unhurried and relaxed.

"GeneralHammond, I wish to proceed to the Infirmary."

The lieutenant stood there looking at the floor. Teal'c's upturned face was unreadable and would probably still be so if he were a yard away rather than a level below me. Teal'c knew what he was doing and I trusted him.

"Go ahead, see me when you're able," I answered.

He acknowledged me with another bow of his head and he carefully, gently, but firmly pulled the younger man along, toward the security door; headed for his stated destination.

Doing an about-face, I threaded my way though the control room, headed for my office. For all the world as if this was expected, planned, routine. I hadn't the foggiest notice about what was going on.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

Seeing Teal'c arrive represented two things to me. That supplies had arrived, making progress on the project more certain. And, a cruel reminder of what I had lost.

Having no right to feel the loss, I worked with the first reason exclusively. To knew to do otherwise would surely destroy me, and I had no fondness to revisit my embarrassing breakdown into childish tears. Only my focus on the goal keep me functional and the exhaustion it left behind enabled me to sleep the sleep of innocence, no matter how undeserving of that I was.

Undeserving of Colonel O'Neill's friendship and probably his respect, I have chosen to live up to his ideals, his standards. To become an officer he would be proud of, an asset to the Air Force. This was my only way to show my respect, and... love. A heady word -- love, But in the short time that I known the colonel I had grown to love him. Perhaps that was my mistake, and one I would learn from.

I may have loved the colonel as a son would a father, but it is plain to me now that he only held fondness for an apt pupil, he encouraged a future asset to Earth. I read way too much into his kindness. His offer of friendship wasn't an offer to become the center of my universe. Only I am to blame for the destruction of our fledgling camaraderie. For hurting him, breaking his arm and nearly getting him killed. Teal'c says that what I had done was right, but he wasn't there to see the man's eyes, to hear his cries or feel him tremble at my violent touch.

It's for the best. Better that Colonel O'Neill goes on without me, to forget the pain I brought into his life, just as I brought pain into my own father's life. Love is a rare thing, and there is none for me, and forgetting that caused a good man to suffer.

Just looking at Teal'c brought all of these painful revelations back to the here and now. All I wished was to perform the duties to pay penance for my arrogance in believing that anyone could love me. Avoiding Teal'c was the only way to avoid these thoughts. Only Teal'c had his own agenda, one that didn't take into account the pain I suffered. During the whole day he wasn't far from my sight. His surveillance of me had more to do with me granting him permission to wander the tunnels alone. Granting that request gave me an undeserved relief.

Punishment, like love was forbidden to me. That was left to me. No discipline would be dealt out to me for harming the colonel, for losing the colonel or for just plain not being what everyone, including O'Neill, believed me to be. Reason told me how wrong this line of thinking was, but my heart had other ideas.

My heart learned different reasons for the actions or non-actions of those around me. Telling me how unworthy and undeserving of their attention I truly was. My mind attempted to counter my heart's words. Somehow I knew I had it all wrong, but I just couldn't resist, too long has my heart been right. I was alone; I've always been alone.

Even under the knowing eyes of Teal'c I remained alone. Now as he told me how wrong I was about what Colonel O'Neill thought about me I was alone in my conviction that he would have nothing more to do with me. Damn it, I knew I had screwed it up between us and for some reason Teal'c insisted that I was wrong.

Being wrong would be the greatest event in my entire life, but I've never been wrong, not entirely. His insistence angered me and I stiffened before him. Haloed by the active wormhole he stood with outreached hand vainly trying to convince me that I was wrong and rejecting O'Neill would harm him and myself.

I longed to swing around and run. I'd tried that, it got me nowhere, and I only succeeded in proving just how flawed I was. Crying like a child, unable to be the man I yearned to prove myself to be. How could I possibly live up to the new standards I'd imposed onto myself if I ran? So I stood there and endured. Stiff backed, rigid with the effort to remain and hear the words I knew could never be true. The words I wished with all my soul was.

Teal'c, frustrated by my inability to believe in his version of his friend's emotional needs became impassioned in his words. So surprising me with such emotion in this controlled warrior that there was no resistance at all as that entreating hand of his connected with my arm to jerk me forward into the bright simmer before me.

Cold and horror.

Instinctively I knew that he would take me to Colonel O'Neill. To... No! I would not use the name he allowed me to use for a brief time.

My heart was ice, my skin was death and horror frozen my thoughts as I found myself staring at the grating that made up the ramp in the Embarkation Room of the SGC. Through a veil of incomprehensible voices I waited. Not even feeling Teal'c's painful grip as he held me prisoner. He tugged me towards my unexpected punishment, my confrontation and confirmation of my heart's words – to see Colonel O'Neill.

I'd always wondered how the condemned saw their last walk to the death chamber; this was it. Stumbling steps down echoing darkened halls, lined with the painfully curious, To be stopped just outside one's destiny, examined and argued over by this official or that. Then tugged into a tiny room filled to overflowing with that final place of physical repose – the chair, voices instructing with words that made no sense at all, and finally the feeling of abandonment washes over you. An isolation so complete that the walls seem friendly in comparison, you are utterly alone.

Gulping breaths to panting breaths, to breaths barely felt. No even the swishing of blood pulsing within holds back the absolute silence. Finally when the silence cannot be endured, you open your eyes and look around. There it is and you shudder in the agony of its nearness, his nearness.

His limp body miraculously stirs; eyelids flutter to eventually reveal soft brown eyes that suck you in. You heart seizes in terror as those pale lips purse to speak.

"Eric."

All I can do is stare and see the effort I cause as the colonel raises his arm in a gesture of greeting and welcome. A come hither that I cannot answer, dare not answer. Who am I? Just the 'boy' who broke the other arm that lies at his side encased in blinding white plaster and propped up by bedding. I'm only the person who hurts him. Why would he even want me in the room?

Unable to endure the pain my presence causes I close my eye and let my head droop. Inside I silently cursed my parents for their total lack of birth control and Teal'c for his devotion to this man, devotion that blinded him to the fact that bringing me here would do more harm than good.

"Eric?"

The slightly hurt question is like a gust of razor blades against my soul, leaving it slashed, but not yet bleeding. In that tiny interval before my lifeblood pours forth the world tilts on its axis.

"Please."

The horrible pain, longing and desire packed into that word transports me across the room and into his embrace, my face carefully buried in his shoulder, instead of hugging him to me I prop myself above his battered body, allowing the warmth of our combined body heat to build. With his only useable arm he grips me as tightly as any exhausted and injured man can.

"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry."

His words of apology are slow to sink in as I wantonly indulge in feeling his grip of welcome, a welcome I'd never foreseen. It sinks in with each word he hoarsely speaks.

"I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to cause you pain. Please forgive me. Don't hate me. Don't leave me alone. Please. I'm sorry. Are you hurt? I should have protected you. Forgive me."

Every word he utters is but an echo of my own words slashed across my soul. Shit, no. He believed that I had rejected him. The truth is so heavy I nearly slip my full weight onto him, in a panic I push up onto the bed next to him, anything to prevent me from accidentally injuring him. Isn't it enough that I've just discovered that I'd injured his soul, quite unwittingly, but I had?

Teal'c's words, spoken in front of the open Stargate on PBX 123 suddenly made sense, everything suddenly made sense. Jack and I were still friends. Only our own insecurities convinced us otherwise. Together we are stronger, we support one another. Circumstance alone drove us apart.

Lifting my head I looked into his face, into those slightly glazed eyes and knew the truth. He was my friend, hurt and confused, but still he was my friend. In his confusion he'd convinced himself that I suffered at his hands as I had convinced myself he has suffered at mine. In truth we had saved each other and took the blame as our own. Neither of us was to blame.

Cradling his cheek in my hand I dropped my head unto his shoulder and drew in a shuddering breath before lifting it again. Gazing into those wounded eyes of his I told him the truth.

"I'm fine Jack, you saved me. I'm okay now. It's you that needs to recover. I'm sorry I couldn't prevent you from being injured further. I tried. Can you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive. My fault."

I smiled, a true smile, the first in a long time.

"No, not your fault, not anyone's fault," I spoke softly, rubbing my thumb gently across his abraded cheek, watching as the excitement burned his reserves. His eyelids fluttered, keeping himself awake, no matter the desire he had, wasn't a possibility.

"Sleep. Everything is just fine. Sleep."

He quickly lost the battle and slept. For long minutes, I sat and watched him breathe, lost in the wonder of what had just happened. Then the horror of what could have occurred began to sink in, thankfully not into my heart, but into my head. I'd allowed my feelings to do all the thinking; I'd almost screwed it up. Slowly, I lifted myself from his sick bed; carefully as to not to disturb his well deserved rest. Retreating to the chair I had just a moment ago seen as a chair of execution, I shifted into it and really thought about what had happened.

Maybe I should see a shrink?

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

It wasn't an increase in activity that drew my attention, it was the opposite. The complete cessation of all the routine sounds of a busy infirmary alerted me to the problem now standing just inside the doors. Looking over the chart I was updating my voice faltered and died as my eyes fell upon the intruders there. Totally forgetting the airman I had been talking to, I was pulled towards the two figures, especially the smaller, younger, worn man there.

I only had eyes for Lt. Van Sickle. He was pale, limp and had an air of defeat about him. He gazed at the floor. This was the first Lt. Van Sickle I had met, the one I hoped never to see again.

"Teal'c, let's get him settled on a gurney," I commanded reaching for the thin, walnut colored arm, the deep tan not quite hiding a bruise above his elbow. He'd lost muscle mass, in direct contradiction to my orders. Anger flashed though me. He had been injured and no one had bothered to bring him back with the colonel, I whipped my head around to Teal'c, accusation in my eyes and words crowded to leap from my tongue.

"We are here to see O'Neill."

Stunned by what he said in the face of my anger. Anger I knew for a fact he could easily read, Colonel O'Neill I'm not. I stared dumbfounded at him. Unable to read any reaction in his face, I broke contact and shifted my appraisal to the lieutenant. All I could see of him was nose, forehead and a black mop of disheveled hair.

"Not going to happen," I hissed and attempted to tug the younger man in the direction of the waiting gurney. He didn't resist, but Teal'c did. The lieutenant might as well have been welded to the floor.

"Teal'c..."

"It is necessary."

Frustration is something I'd learned long ago to deal with; this was close to overwhelming me. Unable to treat an obvious injury is by far the worst scenario to me. But there was something else going on here. I knew that Teal'c would do all in his power to protect Jack and anyone he valued; and he certainly valued this young man. Stooping down, I peeked up into Eric's face, what I saw wasn't good. Despondent wouldn't even cover the expression there. His beautiful green eye was dull and dark, his face pale beneath the healthy tan. And more bruises.

Those bruises had me pinning Teal'c with a worried plea for an explanation, he answered by gently drawing the younger man towards Colonel O'Neill's private room. Teal'c's eyes never left mine until I raised both eyebrows in a shrug of assent and received an elegant dip of his head before he devoted his whole attention to the lieutenant. He gave the impression of maneuvering a delicate handblown glass ornament though a room full of moving obstacles.

The door wasn't shut long before Teal'c reappeared, minus his precious delivery. That remained behind. Making to step forward, my destination the same room, I was blocked by a wall of Jaffa. Not a word was spoken, all was revealed by his eyes. Never had I had such an emotional conversation with this man. Laying a hand on his arm I answered his silent plea for understanding.

"They will remain undisturbed until you return. You have my promise."

Slowly he closed his eyes and bowed shoulders and head in thanks, then proceeded on toward the corridor and what ever he needed to do. Giving time to Jack and Eric to do what they needed to do, what ever that was. But knowing Teal'c, it was something very important to them both and not doing it would affect everyone in the Mountain.

Resuming my rounds, I immersed myself into my work. Time would pass quickly this way I knew, so quickly that the tentative touch on my arm was almost missed in my performance of my current task.

"Ma'am."

Looking up I smiled freely at the wane, but infinitely better looking Lt. Van Sickle.

"Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"

"Just a word in private, Ma'am."

"Hmmm, I'd like to get a better look at you while we talk, how about in here?" Pushing the curtain aside for one of the exam areas I waved off the nurse whose instructions I'd just completed. His eye followed the nurse as she left, I could see the same look that Colonel O'Neill had when he really wanted to just leave the infirmary and hold up somewhere to nurse his wounds. Eric even had that huffing exhalation of resignation down pat, as he gingerly climbed up onto table. "Remove, your shirt please," got me another patented O'Neill expression, almost. Eric was putting a bit of himself into that one, making it his own, just a cocky false smile, rather than Jack's grimace of distaste.

Getting him to talk about the new bruises seemed easier than expected, but then I probably expected him to resist much as Jack would. What he told me was more than I'd heard in the briefing about how the colonel came to be injured the way he was. Near the end of the narrative the poor young man was shivering, I called for a warmed blanket and draped it around his shoulders, drawing it tight at the throat.

"Sorry, I didn't intend to get all emotional."

"I must admit that your tale is full of emotion, but I think that coming back to this dank, cold mountain after being on a planet as warm as PBX 123 has more to do with your chills. Are you feeling better now," that question was a broad-spectrum type and I hoped to hear more than the obvious answer.

"Yes, I do. In more ways than a warm blanket could account for. Thank you. But I did have a request to make." His smile of thanks faded as he stiffened, forcing out the last sentience. This was going to be difficult for him. I knew all the signs.

"I... ah... That is..."

"Eric, there is nothing you can say that will diminish you in my eyes. Just say it."

"Ah... Jack... Ah, Colonel O'Neill said that you could find me a decent shrink, not like that jerk Means. So... Ah... Can you?"

By the end of his stuttering speech he was studying the tips of his dusty boots with full attention.

"Eric?" Reluctantly he looked up at me and I smiled reassuringly. "No problem. At the colonel's request I've already picked out a few candidates for you. First I'd like you to visit with an old friend of mine, he'll evaluate you and help you choose the right person for you to talk to. You'll like him, the colonel hasn't shot him yet."

He tried to strangle the laugh that produced, without success.

"I'd like that, Ma'am. I... ah, just don't..."

"Want to be stuck with someone you don't like or trust. Don't worry, you will decide who you see and when. Only when you trust the person you picked will you be asked to surrender that control to the therapist, psychiatrist or psychologist that you chose. And just so you'll know, the colonel and general put their heads together and created some checks in Academy Hospital's Mental Health program to prevent that kind of deception again. Only members of the military will be allowed on staff from now on. And even they must survive patient feedback. And for that I have you to thank."

Grinning at him, he reddened. He was so adorable, so young and so close to being a capable man like the colonel. It was easy to see what Jack saw in this youngster. And I knew he must have felt the pain too, this so easily could have been Charlie. Not in appearance, but very close in demeanor. Very much like a young Jack O'Neill. Jack has come a long way to be able to handle something like this.

"I'll make sure you have information on the likely candidates and my friend in the next communication to the planet. Meanwhile you are to reduce your workload and take it easy. If the project isn't done to the general's satisfaction you send him to me, I'm placing you back on restricted duty." Worry immediately clouded his face. "Now, now. I'm sure that having you healthy is much more important than the colonel's little project. Besides he promised me no wear and tear on you while there, so he owes me."

"Okay, no worries then. Besides, I... Umm... we're actually ahead, way ahead, of schedule. I think all of us can take a little time off. I know a few of my team have some private projects they'd like to get in before we're ordered back."

He was shrugging into his shirt, just stuffing in into the waistband without loosening his belt. He had lost that much weight. Shooing him out, confidant that he was going to be all right I headed for my office. There would be additional supplies going back with him. He needed feeding up and I knew just what kind of supplies I could wheedle out of the commissary for him.

On the way, I peeked in on Jack. He looked peaceful. I regretted that I'd missed his latest awakening, but the right person was there for him, that's what counted. At his next awakening I hoped the other right person he needed would be there. Sam.

**Dr MacKenzie**

Coffee?

My head popped up from the feather pillow, the comforter stuck under my nose, as I glanced around. It was really dark.

Oh.

Dragging up a hand I slipped off my sleeping mask, the golden light of a new day shone weakly though the curtained French Doors leading to my walled garden. The doors were closed, but the bedroom door wasn't, I was sure that I'd closed it.

Oh, my. I forgot all about Cochran. I'd slept all night and hadn't checked on him. Some friend I am.

Bounding from the bed, devoid of robe or slippers, I rushed down the hall to the guest bedroom. Its door also stood ajar. Slowing, I stopped just outside, pushed the door open further, and there on the perfectly made bed lay, not the supine body of my patient, but the handcuffs, locked empty handcuffs.

Oh my goodness. This isn't good.

Slowly I descended the stairs to the dining area; someone sat at a heavily laden table of food, screened by the morning paper.

"Coffee?"

A hand snaked out from under the colorful ads hawking furniture and mattresses, to shove an insulated coffee carafe in my direction.

"You... you..."

"Yeah, I know. I had to pee, so I decided to make breakfast too. The least I could do after your aborted play for my virtue last night." Wafted over the paper as it shook during the turning and rearranging of a page, his voice held a distinct amusement, with a hint of lecherous intent.

Oh!

"Sit down, Mac. We need to talk."

"Yes, we do," I mumbled, turning I retraced my steps to my bedroom, donned my robe and slippers and dutifully returned to the table. A huge plate of food had miraculously appeared at my intended place.

"I really don't eat stuff like this. In fact, I don't have food like this in the house. How...?"

"Couldn't make breakfast without the proper food, so I went to the store while you were sleeping. Hey, what's with that Lone Ranger mask you wear? It has no holes"

"To the store?"

"Yepper, borrowed your car, hope you don't mind?"

"You... you, touched my car?"

"Need to get it in for a oil change, it doesn't sound right at all. We can do that today or tomorrow, we'll use my car."

"Ah... I guess?" Tentatively I tried the little links of sausage. Hmmm. "But I don't think you should be going out, we need to do something about this aberrant behavior."

"Hey, it was you that cuffed me to the bed! Aberrant behavior my Aunt Antonia! Besides, we need to get to the Mountain. I have a lead on the bad guys. Someone's tampered with the surveillance cameras. Recently."

"No. No. I think you need to stay here," getting up I headed for the stash of sedatives I carried all the time. Opening the drawer, they were gone. I searched the other drawers just to ensure I hadn't slipped them into the wrong one. Looking up Cochran stood in the doorway with that goofy grin of his, seeing me looking at him he made shooing motions with his hand.

"Hurry up, get dressed. Leaving in about ten."

Backing up, I headed for the stairs, pretending to comply, I had a few sedatives upstairs I had intended to use on him. Just as I laid my hand on the armoire containing linens and the hidden sedatives his voice blared up the stairwell to me.

"Hey, Mac. You really are dead to the world when you sleep, there could have been a nuclear strike in your bedroom last night and you'd have not noticed. I'll be in the kitchen cleaning up, won't take me long so hurry up will ya."

Dropping my chin to my chest I sighed. What choice did I have? I really couldn't... could I? Lifting the phone I thought long and hard about having him picked up, the receiver nestled against my ear in habit, so concerned was I that it took me some time to realize that there was no dial tone. He had thought of everything. I was a prisoner in my own home and my jailer was my self-proclaimed friend. Or was he? I'd have to play along and bide my time. Then spring into action. He needed me and I was going to see that he was taken care of without destroying his career if I could. This was something I really should have afforded many of my patients, but rules are rules. Only this time I am willing to break them. Heaven help me.

He surprised me by letting me drive. He also talked non-stop, and for once I listened, really listened. What he had to say made sense, there was someone in the SGC intent on doing harm; either to his hero, Colonel O'Neill or that poor unfortunate young lieutenant the man was currently guilt-obsessed with. From the way Cochran spoke of the relationship developing between the two men, I may have an extremely harsh view of it. Maybe I had too harsh a view of Colonel O'Neill too. I was beginning to wonder.

Admittedly, I had already moderated my view of Hammond's 2IC, recognizing his ability to lead and protect those around him. Yet, I knew only what was written in psychological reviews of his private life, something he doesn't speak of. Even to his trusted team members, except, perhaps Dr. Jackson. And I would warrant he spoke very little even to him.

Cochran seemed more driven than myself in regards to Colonel O'Neill. Whereas, I needed to right my wrong of assumption, he seemed to be trying to draw the man's attention to himself, almost like a stalker would. But I got the feeling there was more to him and his desire to help O'Neill. Them, having met at some time in the past would not have surprised me in the least bit. The Colonel impressed many, either positively or negatively.

Every word left me in a quandary. What I had witnessed previously screamed mental breakdown of some type and I felt the need to get Cochran help. Yet, what he said was concise and well thought out, not at all like the ramblings of a broken mind. But worse of all the man expressed his trust – not in actions, but in words. Leaving me wondering just how sincere he was.

When I asked why he let me drive after all the trouble he'd gone to in preventing me from carrying out my original plan to confine him, what he said stunned me.

"Mac, my friend, you'll do the right thing, deep down you know I'm right, what we need to do is right."

Arrogant he is, but I do feel that he's right, even when my intellect is screaming the exact opposite at me.

So, for once in my life I ignored my celebrated intelligence and followed my gut. I drove him to the base and followed him blindly. I guess that to show trust, you must trust.

And I keep telling myself I had to trust all the time I stood in the perpetual darkness of the one of the security monitor stations. Not just any station, from rumors and whispers this would be the room that General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill ran training scenarios from, the secret one, that no one was supposed to know about. Apparently it wasn't that much of a secret.

This room was bigger, with better equipment and had a small lounge area with a compact kitchen area. And from the look of the some of the built in benches I wouldn't be surprised if someone could dog the hatch shut and live here for a few days.

Cochran busied himself with some of the computer equipment, occasionally cursing or exclaiming to himself. After making a few notes on a notebook from his pocket he beckoned me out of the room. I followed, determined to stick to him until we inevitably were caught.

He led me down to the Infirmary level to a back corridor and practically pushed me into an airshaft. Why was I here? Cochran didn't leave me in suspense long, crowding up to me he shone his flashlight down the dark metal shaft ahead of us.

"What do you see?" He asked.

"Dirt."

"Noooo, not just dirt. It's dust; better yet it's disturbed dust. See where the metal is clean? Someone's been here."

"That could have happened anytime, Sgt. Silers' men crawl all over the Mountain all the time."

"Not really true, there's been no 'official' maintenance in this duct for over a month."

"So, these marks were made a month ago. I still don't understand their significance."

"Ah, Mac. So naive, this is a dirty place. Even you saw dirt right away. Marks from a month ago would have long been covered with dust. Did you know they have a regular cleaning schedule for the duct work?"

"I don't usually pay attention to maintenance schedules."

"What! They have so much interesting information. Don't be such a snob. Even the little cogs do important work ya know."

"I am not a snob!"

"Sure ya are. Hey, don't be ashamed of it. If I have my way you won't be one much longer."

"What... is that a threat?"

"No, a promise."

"Enough! Why are we here?"

"Oh, just proving a theory. There've been some glitches in the surveillance cameras here on the Infirmary level, and two on the dorm levels."

"Glitches?"

"Yes, as in someone tampering with the cameras. I'd set up a program to watch for those when I first arrived, I could account for all of the interruptions in video feed except for three locations, on two separate occasions."

"Then you knew about this when you arrived?"

"Naw, I'm a snoop, haven't you noticed? But guess who lives on the dorm levels with glitches?"

"Well, Colonel O'Neill would probably be one, as to the other I haven't the faintest."

"Van Sickle is the other. It's the timing that gave it all away, the dorm level glitches occurred the day O'Neill set the kid up with a room. And the Infirmary wasn't tapped until O'Neill was confined there."

"That is too much for coincidence. But what do these glitches mean?"

"Ah, that's what we're here to discover. I'm betting some kind of bypass to fool the security monitors, allowing someone free movement within range of those cameras. Here," he handed me a flashlight, "Take this and follow the scuffmarks in the dust, where they end is where we begin."

It was a long, clumsy journey until the scuffmarks ended, now only untouched dust stretched ahead of us; Cochran nudged me to the side and illuminated the tinny metal walls. Three strips of silver tape marred the smooth metal, concealing a flap cut into the metal wall of the duct. Captivated by the patience that he could muster, I watched as he painstakingly teased the edges of the tape free, pulling it from the metal until he could pry up and peer under the flap. Sweat poured off me just watching him, he was totally unruffled by the tension I felt.

Would we be found out and questioned about our being here? Or worse, would the people who had been here – return?

"Ooh, this is even better than I thought. Mac, here. Take a look."

Since he reached out, cupped his hand around the back of my neck, and pulled, I had little choice but to look. Only at what?

"Captain, you do realize I don't comprehend any of what I'm seeing?"

"Hey, you're a smart guy. See, this is the video feed for the surveillance cameras on this level, should be just a bunch of black wires all together. But lookit this."

A black bar type box sat over the wires, each nestled neatly in a groove, and the box was screwed into the wall, pinning the wire down. Very symmetrical.

"Looks like a device to keep the wires from fouling."

"Ah..." He gave me a funny look, stared at the device and resumed, "Ah, guess so. But actually this is a tapping device; pins in the grooves tap into and divert the signal. When inactive, it's like it wasn't there, but with the right control, like a laptop, it can stop, delay, alter or replace the signal. Pretty seamlessly too, these are hard to detect. Their installation can cause a commotion and that was what I detected, their installation. We have some pretty well-provided heavies inside the SGC."

"We need to report this and have it removed then."

"Not so fast. This can be useful."

"Useful? How?"

"Now that I know it's here, I can set up my line tests differently and know when they get switched on. We'll know when they make their move."

"And that helps how?"

"We can cut them off at the pass."

"We? As in you and I?"

"Sure, it's prefect."

"Yes, I'm sure. This mess is perfectly suited to get us both into Leavenworth as swiftly as possible."

"Hey! What happened to your resolve to clear the air between you and Colonel O'Neill?"

"It's still there, I just don't see how my going to Leavenworth would achieve that."

"Okaaay. What if I asked you to help? One friend to another?"

That had me thinking for a long time,

"I don't..."

"Good, you're in." He grabbed me and started pulling me back down the vent. He'd already replaced the tape, no one would be the wiser to our visit – I hoped. "We'll need to personally monitor the computer tests, we can spell each other. Come on."

tbc...


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

If this is dream, I hope I never wake up. However, if this is a nightmare… perhaps I still shouldn't.

For once I wasn't in pain, physical or mental. I drifted in the haze that rising from a deep dreamless sleep can produce. Such a rare occurrence in adulthood to experience this, only children have this it seems; or colonels on the good drugs.

The word 'drug' chased away the comfortable haze, dragging forward the confusion of the past couple of days. Did I almost drown? And… and, someone tried to kill… choke… Charlie!

My heart sped up, thumping out my confusion. Nothing made sense. Charlie was... well, gone. That never could have happened, but I swear...

"Colonel O'Neill," a panicked nurse spoke from the bright doorway, before hurrying across the room. "Bad dream, sir?"

She smiled at my non-committal grunt; closing my eyes I endured her pillow plumping. More intent on what I could remember than on the embarrassment of being treated like an invalid.

Every awakening gave me a little more of that nightmarish time on PBX 123. Not Charlie -- thank God -- no, not Charlie. But, Eric! I squashed down the rush of emotion, anything to keep my heartbeat from rising, the sooner to lose my current keeper. Not being up to the disjointed and painful images of that time, I pushed forward to remember why I could feel the bliss of drugs in my system.

My sluggish mind finally retrieved the last hours before succumbing to slumber. It was enough to make even a hard-ass special ops trained soldier giggle like a schoolgirl -- a hysterical, scared-shitless schoolgirl.

I'd awakened to my nightmare. I'd flirted with disability for years. My damn knees always one step from banishing me from the only thing that mattered to me anymore -- being out there, being with them.

Janet's face swam into the center of the whirlwind of images; again I saw that look when I'd asked for a sedative; the worry she couldn't hide. Even now I felt guilty for causing it, even though I realized that I had to do something. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream -- that would have been a surefire way to see MacKenzie, in another capacity than as a keeper of my bedside vigil. I needed something; and oblivion was the only recourse left to me. I was taking the coward's way out -- again.

Any urge at suicide had been burned out of me on Abydos. Never would I do that again -- I hoped. This wasn't suicide. Was it? After Iraq I'd found myself seeking drugs to escape what had been done to me; and the new torture inflicted by the doctors and other's random acts of kindness. Well-meaning gestures were far crueler than anything the Iraqis' had done. Drugs to help deaden the anger I couldn't control, anger aimed at everything and everyone. Drugs became my only respite then. I wallowed in them and nearly lost myself in the process.

It's not like it matters now. I'm washed up, done for, a has-been. I'll be gone from this man's Air Force soon. Friendless -- alone -- relegated to some sterile business-like rest home or care facility interested only in the money my broken body represented. An invalid to my dying day, a day I prayed would come sooner rather than later. Yeah… not suicidal. Just a coward.

Unwilling to cope, I sought out the dying tendrils of drug.

**Major Sam Carter**

This was it.

Tugging my uniform shirt down, I breathed deeply, calming my nerves and the flutter in my belly. But the excitement continued to build. I was going to touch him. Really, truly, touch him.

Janet had informed him his prognosis for recovery last night -- slim to none. From the lack of nurses, or visitors, he was in a foul mood. Or, would that be moods? He's still influenced by his near overdose and all the drugs that were put into his system since his arrival from PBX 123. From experience I know that the pain meds had a tendency to make him distant and remote, causing him to push away the comfort others offered him. He may think that keeping irrational tears in check denied to others the idea that he could be vulnerable; but SG-1 knew better. He's a sensitive man forced to shove down his feelings time and time again in the mistaken belief that he has to be strong and ready to go at a moment's notice.

That would never change, not in his mind, his thoughts or even in his abortive moves toward doing what he believed he must do. His body has become an anchor, tethering him down, preventing him from doing what comes naturally to him. My goal was to gently steer him into doing other things, less natural -- outwardly. Smiling, caressing, existing; being the center of my universe; things that I knew he was capable of, though out of practice.

"Go away," gruffly muttered the body strapped and weighted to the bed in the semi-darkness of the room that belonged to Colonel Jack O'Neill, the man I wanted to seduce into my life.

"Sir," just loud enough for him to hear, my voice revealed my hesitation; just as my body showed it, pushed firmly against the wall next to the door. My bravado dissolved in his presence. My legs like water with my need for him.

"Go away…"

His emotion, badly hidden, had me moving to him. My hand lightly settled on his upper arm, careful of the IV further down. His eyes were tightly clenched shut, his breath a rapid pant. Controlling his urge to strike out in the only way he could, with hurtful words, I'd bet. Man that he was, he could be surly when ill, which revealed just how human he is -- no matter his denial.

"Please…"

He trembled under my hand, so lost and out of control. This was agony for him.

"Sir?"

His stiffing muscles were my answer; I cringed at the pain that he suffered for this show of rejection. If no one sees, no one would understand how human he could be. I'd expected no less, for now and quite some time. He only rejected me to prevent hurting me. He could never hurt me; he's incapable of that. His only target was himself.

Before I could speak he did something I'd never seen him do, he pressed the button that would summon a nurse. The only time he's ever touched that ever-present button was to summon help for someone else, never himself. All of SG-1 has watched him endure obvious pain rather than admit to it by asking for help, even from us.

"Sir," I asked again, but he never reacted to me, only to the nurse who came nearly at a run. He asked for pain relief, biting the words out, enunciated precisely, distantly. The world moved around me, a coldness crept up my legs, stifling the joyous steam that had erupted from me at the very sight of him, icy liquid dripped down my inner thigh. Something was wrong, very wrong. Janet was suddenly there, confirming the request for the drug, her eyes darted to me whenever she could covertly do so. Yet I just stared wide-eyed at the scene. At the man I loved as he succumbed to the false peace of a drug.

Left standing dumbly in the room, now darkened again in deference to its slumbering occupant, my eyes swung to the light streaming though the doorway, to my friend, to Janet. Her summons galvanized my cold leaden legs and I left the darkness and emerged into the light.

"Janet? What the hell just happened?"

"He asked for pain relief."

She blushed under my stare; she knew exactly what I'd asked and she had chosen to pretend otherwise. This couldn't be good. She had told the colonel yesterday that he was headed for mandatory retirement, that his recovery to active duty status was too slim to even exist, but that everyone would work as if he were going to recover fully. He would not be alone; he would never be alone. Everyone was optimistic. He would be all right. He would be okay. All of us were thinking of ways to keep him involved, he was just too valuable to lose. To the SGC, the planet and us. We needed him.

"Janet?"

"Sam, I'd tell you if I could, but I can't, I would not betray my duty or his trust like that. Please don't ask me to."

For what felt like long minutes I contemplated her, turned over her words, factored in her expression and body language. Janet visibly squirmed as I viewed her like a puzzling equation, numbers that I knew I could conquer, swiftly plugging in promising sub-equations and likely constants to solve the unsolvable. Numbers were easy. Numbers had always been my problem, my refuge, easier than people. I'd failed with people in the past, numbers never helped then and they certainly wouldn't help now I realized. I could feel the heat of my shame move across my cold skin.

"God Janet, I'm sorry. I would never ask that of you. I'm confused and worried. Please forgive me, I really should know better," I moved to stand closer to her, tentatively reaching out to her with my hand, afraid that I'd overstepped my rights as her friend. She quickly grasped my hand and smiled. Relief flooded me and I smiled in return, I hadn't messed up with her and I was determined not to mess up with Jack. Something was wrong. What I'd just seen was wrong. Janet couldn't tell me, but there was no boundary to me finding out -- somehow -- what was going on.

There was one question Janet could answer.

"Is there anything I can do, to help?"

Her face sobered for just a moment, before a soft smile brightened her face, her eyes latched onto mine. They were so much like Jack's, a little less infinite than his, but nearly the same color. I found both my hands clasped in hers as she cleared her throat and brought me back from my daydreams of the sparkling depths of bright amber and soft teddy bear brown that fell forever in the eyes of the man I wanted.

"Yes, there is. Don't let him push you away."

Her words should have startled me, but didn't, she knew us, knew us all very well. She squeezed my hands and vanished in the direction of the main ward, leaving me gaping after my friend in wonder.

She knew about my feelings for the colonel and I suspected she knew his for me. As friends, we pretty much avoided the subject for the same reason she couldn't tell me what was wrong with Jack. She had a duty. Part of that duty could include reporting inappropriate behavior between members of a team. I was thankful that neither I nor the colonel had ever given anyone reason to more than suspect we had feelings for one another; and I was doubly thankful for Janet Fraiser's compassion and understanding. She knew that feelings didn't necessarily lead to actions and I knew in my heart that she had just given me the answer to my inappropriate question. She had told me point blank what was wrong and just what I should do about it. I've never regretted the trust I put in Janet and now wasn't the time to let doubt take root. On that thought I turned on my heel and re-entered the colonel's room.

I was determined that he would not push me away. No matter how hard he fought, he was going to lose this particular battle.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

This is it

God, I can't take this; to have her here, close enough to touch while I show her just how unworthy I am of her.

I've fallen so far as to beg her to leave, using 'please' to stave off the moment of truth. Smooth Drake was hot, but Sam is incandescent. How can a crippled killer like me even imagine getting close to that kind of woman? Smart, beautiful and so sexy that she could have anyone, why would she want me? My blooded hands soiling that perfect skin -- she wouldn't, she shouldn't, and I'm going to make sure she doesn't waste another second with charitable thoughts towards her CO. This has to be quick and final.

My body had betrayed my interest in Drake, and I'm thankful that now it's incapable of showing its greater interest in Sam. Really don't need that distraction during this process. This has got to be the most distasteful action of my long and sordid life; but this time the only death will be mine and I don't want anyone around to see that long slide towards it. Later, she'll go find someone. I'll know that she's happy and alive. Anyone would be better than me. Letting the end come will be easier knowing she's not there to watch; that anyone is there to watch. Don't want pity. Don't want compassion. There's nothing anyone can do, why be involved?

Taking up and using the call button for the nurse is a show for Sam. In this role I must be ruthless; I'm used to doing heinous things to arrive at the desired results. Janet would be here soon; her reaction last night guaranteed that. What did catch me unawares was how carefully she injected the drug, I never felt it sheath itself into my flesh and wasn't sure that the drug had been injected so slow was it. Finally I felt it.

Stuff was fast. Lost track of Janet... Dark? Oh, my eyes are closed.

Mmm... nice. Felt like slim fingers stroking down my arm. Who knows -- who cares? I hope I don't wake up.

**Dr. Janet Fraiser**

Damn the man! He's alive; there are people who care about him. Why does he want to throw it all away?

Easy, Janet, remember the drugs. It has to be the drugs. He's had problems before, big problems. There has to be a way to convince him that what he feels he must do is wrong.

But what?

Sam is doing her level best to entice him out into the open; she really wants him in the here and now. She doesn't give a damn if he can pack a 55-pound load over an alien landscape. She doesn't care if he has trouble standing, or getting up. All she cares about is a living, breathing piece of heaven succumbing to her charms, whole-heartedly, like choosing to live with her, even if it's in a wheelchair. She sees more in him than his physical ability. It's his compassion, his gentleness, and his ability to be a loving caring father or mate. Whether he does it from vertical or horizontal position is irrelevant. Though I'd bet she can't wait to try out the horizontal one.

Eric and he talked, but Eric doesn't know what going is on. I'm burning to inform him, but duty stands in the way. Being Jack's friend and his doctor conflicts. As his friend I'd run to tell everyone what the stubborn fool is out to do. But as his doctor I must respect his decision, no matter how stupid.

And siccing MacKenzie on him could do more harm than good. MacKenzie could be killed in his zeal to heal the breach between him and the colonel; and surely there is the possibility that he could harm the colonel as well. Though, not physically, I hope. But emotionally, mentally. So much has happened to Jack over the years, even he understands his own vulnerability.

Hammond and Daniel are both so shocked at what the colonel was doing that neither knew which way to jump. The general really should have an inkling, but then he does have this emotional investment in the man, seeing him more as the son he never had, than the soldier under his command. Proving somewhat the premise that personnel should be rotated enough to prevent emotional attachments. Yet, SG-1 proved the opposite. Their emotional bonds are shields between this planet and 'out there.' Could Earth have survived with a less attached group of individuals? My gut says: no.

Then there's Teal'c. If my duty allowed, he and I would have a very long discussion about loyalty and honor. As to why he abandoned Jack as un-salvageable and transferred all of his hopes to Eric... well, I just don't understand it. Jack still lives and is in desperate need of friends, even as he pushes them away. Teal'c could talk some sense into him if he tried.

Surely, there is something I can do? Treating his depression is strictly out. Prescribing anything along that line would open the door for MacKenzie, asked for or not. His treatment plan would be radically changed, his wishes ignored as suspect. I'd watched that happen with Daniel, he survived it, but not our colonel. His distrust of anything smacking of the mental health profession is deep; he would see that as an unforgivable betrayal; worse than what happened with Colonel Frank Cromwell, and that had ended badly enough.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Hmmm. The delicious burn along the muscles of my legs and the glow of endorphins was better than wine, women and song. Eating mile after mile, pushing one's body to the limit; and then somehow, finding a way to push beyond it; that feeling was in a class by itself, just being was enough, and I had no other needs in that physical nirvana.

Even the slow cool-down circles after running as far as I could were a joy I'd never found anywhere else. Each fast breath became slower and deeper, but I felt as if I could do anything, deal with anything. I was invincible. Even in that age of awkward teen years, I'd never felt this indestructible.

With the sky above my upturned face I spread my arms and fingers wide. I knew I could fly, to soar though the blue, straight through the clouds and out into the cold ink of space to feel the naked warmth of the star that gave me life. Its life-giving rays reached towards me, little hands offering renewed energy with each touch. We were one for a brief moment that felt like eternity.

Such endless joy and pleasure is always shattered -- a cramp in my calf for this occasion. Already I'm paying for my moment of ecstasy with a little down-to-earth pain. With a grin I reached down to knead it. Only… only I couldn't feel it. My leg, I could feel it with my hand, it felt cold, still and heavy to my fingers. The leg, no report came from it, no sensation.

With a hitch in my breath I panted in panic. I couldn't see. My God. Control slipped away from me. Instinct took over and letting that happen was bad, very bad. Belatedly, my training pushed back, control came crashing back and buried me.

Control wasn't the only thing to crash back: memory, pain, hopelessness and the infirmary bed I was strapped to -- an E-Ticket fun-ride at the SGC carnival of horrors. Shock receded and comprehension floated in the backflow. It was all a dream, a wishful dream. Tears prickled, and a scream started deep in the pit of me; only waves of hopelessness washed forth. Never would I feel or experience the joy of running until I couldn't run anymore. Even if my life depended on it, I'd not be able to. Cripple.

Icarus must have felt this, soaring under his own power, master of his own destiny. Only to have it all fall apart, pulled down through a cloud of traitorous pin-wheeling feathers, to plummet to earth, sucked from the glow of joy into the depths of despair in the span of a breath, the bat of an eye.

My body felt as if a black hole had me in its grip. More so my soul, tendrils of darkness wrapped tightly around that warmth that existed within me, that something that no one ever saw, and it pulled and pulled, until my essence was dragged into a void as solid as weapons grade naquadah. Alone, and with every hand turned against me, even my own. Despair ruled.

As if squeezed out by the growing coils of despondency that pulled at me, hot tears slid from under my eyelids and across my cheeks. Burning gouges as they went. Compressed lungs hiccupped into motion, sobs escaped from me. My illusion of control vanished; it'd never been there. At the edge of awakening I could feel the presence of another. Our hands tightly bound together; my only safety line. That warm grasp prevented me from sinking forever into a morass I knew I could not fight my way out of. That would have been a one-way trip. I held fast to that hand and wept for the first time in a long time. Not caring who saw. No one could care if you don't care back.

**Major Sam Carter**

Daniel was sitting with the colonel when I arrived and before him apparently Dr. MacKenzie. Daniel wasn't happy in the least about that. Usually our archeologist needed protecting from his own trusting nature, but when it involved an injured colonel Daniel trusted very few, and MacKenzie wasn't included in that very small number.

At first that protectiveness baffled me. But, after that mission on P7J-989 and those virtual reality pods, that became much, much clearer to me. Daniel was afraid of losing the only figure that remained in his life that may or may not resemble a father figure. The colonel treated him as a child sometimes, but usually he's more like a big brother, a jock of a big brother.

My first impression of Colonel O'Neil had been what I had read of his reports before being assigned to the SGC. On my first face-to-face with the man my opinion changed, he screamed jock -- and dumb as a stump, a very hot looking stump, but still a stump. Immediately I placed him into that category of my typical superior, one more among the clueless ones. From that erroneous first reaction I've been constantly revising my estimate of him upwards.

Daniel and I have both tried to discover just how intelligent the colonel is, but official records are few and far between. His many years in covert black ops had pushed most of them into the 'top secret' category. Daniel gave up, but I shared one trait with the colonel -- stubbornness.

This man who lay drugged into unconsciousness, this man whose hand lay limply in mine is intelligent. I still don't know everything, but I know he's well educated, far more so than his behavior hints at. And I know he understands mine and Daniel's technical explanations more than he lets on. His impatience to listen to them is probably because what we are saying is familiar territory to him. His interests do exceed big honking space guns and The Simpsons.

If Homer had more than one computer at home, an expensive working telescope and an actual comet named after his son. We'd all realize he wasn't as dumb as he acted. Especially as the first calculated orbit of 1087P/O'Neill C by its discoverer still stood uncorrected, so well was its calculation. I'd not expect anything less than genius in the IQ department. And that, makes Colonel Jack O'Neill more than hot -- he's incandescent.

Only this genius is so good at acting the typical jock, that he lets that habit dictate his actions. This drugged state of his is a prime example. Dumb is as dumb does. Or in his case 'dumb does as dumb is.' I'd thought. Janet had another explanation; the man had had his emotional shields stripped away by the chemicals in his system and the shock of his ordeal. She hinted that this was an established coping mechanism of his, familiar, but still dangerous. Yet, I still think that sometimes he carries the dumb act way too far.

There was a tiny benefit to his state at the moment, one that was a very selfish indulgence of mine. He was a captive landscape and I wished to paint his likeness into memory. Even unshaven, pale, thin and bruised, he made my heart race. Long of limb, an understated musculature that he hid in ill-fitting uniforms and mufti; but I've seen him sweat soaked and bare chest-ed on a few occasions. Once he even blushed -- deeply. That had been a treat and it crowds into my dreams often.

He's too lean now, almost gaunt and pain lines overlay his strong boned face. Still he is handsome. I wondered if he could be anything but to me now. My fingers rubbed across his palm, eliciting a curling of his impossibly long fingers from time to time. There was no strength behind the movement, only a caress that promised future moments of strong passion.

My explorations of those fingers distracted me from his face, his whole body; I missed the beginnings of his soon obvious distress as his beloved fingers crushed painfully around mine. My disbelieving eyes widened and then moved to his face, and found it distorted by some unknown grief. A lone tear welled from beneath an eyelid to slide down to the pillow that supported his restless head.

My breath hastened with his and hitched at the same moment, whereas mine never resumed, his sobbed out, and tears flowed. Never even awakening, the colonel grieved; it was painful to watch him. So strong, so kind and in so much absolute soul-wrenching pain, and I hadn't the faintest idea why now, why here. His grip felt desperate and I tightened mine in response. Leaning over his irregularly heaving chest, I finally breathed. And on that warmth across his wet face I sent what help I could.

"Jack... Jack... You're not alone. I'm here; I'll always be here. Ssssh. Ssssh."

Never loosening my grip on his hand I brushed my fingers across a damp forehead and though his hair. Making those inane sounding nonsense sounds that I'd long ago discovered was more important than the most profound of spoken truths. I remained a witness to the colonel's unaccustomed display of emotion. None would ever hear of it from me, it was too precious for that. His pain would be cherished within my heart until the day I died, a rare glimpse of the inner man. And if I could I would keep its memory even beyond that point. Jack was no Homer Simpson, not by a long shot.

**Dr. Daniel Jackson**

Tiredly I rubbed at my eyes; long nights with Jack and even longer days working were beginning to take their toll. Twenty-four hours in a day wasn't enough to do all I needed to do. As for what I wanted to do, I don't think eternity would have sufficed.

My relief at Jack's survival hadn't lasted long, no sooner had he regained his senses then somehow he lost them again. There are so many theories about his now obvious downward spiral into apathy that I don't know what to think.

Everyone seemed to think that I would know why Jack is doing what he is. I'm not sure. Janet believes it's the drugs, Sam thinks it's the prospect of being forced out of the SGC on disability. What Teal'c thinks he keeps to himself, but from his actions he appears to have moved on. That idea horrified me. Could Teal'c possibly believe that Jack was as good as gone, and now attaching himself to Eric would honor his all-but dead 'warrior brother'?

I've heard about soldiers taking over the responsibilities of their fallen brothers, supporting wives and children, even going so far as to marry the widow and adopting the new orphans as a matter of honor. Is this Teal'c's way of honoring Jack? By protecting what Jack tried to protect and failed?

Whom do I kick first? Jack, or Teal'c: Jack for giving up and keeping himself drugged to the gills; or, Teal'c for quietly accepting Jack's decision to fade away. Maybe, I should kick myself. What the hell have I done to fix this? Not a Goddamned thing.

My parent's death was quick, the pain sharp and my grief will never end. I'm not sure I could survive Jack's slow form of death. Before, he sought death in a quick vaporizing flash of heated plasma. My death was a foregone conclusion then, my life just as meaningless to him as his own. Then I reached out and he grabbed hold, our lives from that moment on entwined providing meaning to us both. Could either of us live without the other now?

**Dr MacKenzie**

Sixty-two minutes.

That is exactly how long Cochran has been gone. Sixty-two minutes of staring at this monitor.

Like some puppet on a string he'd dragged me here, and not once did I speak up, I'd just let him pull me right into his delusion. This should never have happened; I'm trained better than this. I'm the professional!

Irked at my own behavior, I noshed on my peanut-butter sandwich cracker, using it as a distraction. Hmmm, not half bad for food that can last for a decade between manufacture and consumption. Its sticky, crispy mess rolled around pleasantly behind my frown. Water, tepid and bland, was my choice of the variety of drinks. There were cold sodas and water, but warm bottled seemed more cold war-ish. That is what this place had been built for -- the cold war, so appropriate for all this cloak and dagger stuff I thought.

A swallow of water helped me pry the dry meal from my back teeth, while giving me something to work my disgust out on.

Cochran amazed me. Why he wanted to be my friend I had no idea. Granted he was crazy as a loon, but he did seem to know what he was doing, ah… work wise. He reminded me of Colonel O'Neill, both desperately in need of counseling, but functional, until that moment one of them broke that was. The difference between them was that Cochran had already experienced his break and somehow had made his fantasy world his work. Or, was that his work fit into his fantasy world? Not much difference I suppose. Hmmm, now that's a thought, this could be the basis of a very, very interesting paper.

I would probably have plenty of time to write it, being in Leavenworth. The trouble there would be getting access to Cochran. Would they let me help with counseling I wonder? That might be the only way I'd ever see the idiot. Like I'm not one too? I should turn him in; he needs to get proper care. This delusional state he's in might get _me_ killed. And what he did to Manny, well… I do have to admit, Manny's not catatonic anymore. Still…

My head jerked around at the touch on my shoulder.

"Scared ya did I," Cochran grinned hugely, like he had just won at Powerball.

"No! _You did not_. I just require the obeisance due my rank; like announcing your presence," and tapped my silver eagles for emphasis, the man has been taking just too much advantage of me of late. It's like he knows I'm trying to help him. Like he knows I suddenly find it difficult to deny him what whatever he asks, no matter how ludicrous. Maybe a little more insistence at toeing the discipline mark would do him some good; it might do me some good too. With that thought in mind I amended my statement with a steely glare -- the one that worked every time.

"Ah, come on. You nearly wet ya shorts," his slap on my back propelled me forward and almost into the bank of monitors. My hands stopped my motion and I swung around to confront him.

"Hey…"

Ding! Ding! -- Ding! Ding! -- Ding! Ding!

My head jerked around in surprise; back to the monitors I'd been watching so intently. Here soon I was going to have a painful case of self-inflicted whiplash.

"It's the alarm, someone's activated the video shunts," Cochran growled and shoved me out of the way, leaving me slowing revolving in my chair, my feet had me stopped after a few helpless circuits, almost facing him. With his face close to the monitors only his pants greeted me, tightly stretched over his buttocks. Deep inside a nearly overwhelming desire burned. Boot. Ass. Yeeessss. Through will alone I pulled myself back to the problem at hand and let him have it in far less satisfying words.

"Alarm! You didn't tell me there was an alarm. You said I had to watch the monitor for it." Twiddling my thumbs uselessly for more than an hour was what I'd been doing. Just when did I lose control of this whole situation? Oh, yes, I remember. The moment I laid eyes on him. No, wait. He saw me first -- then -- very definitely then.

"Must have slipped my mind," slid from that infuriating grin of his. He did not forget; that was one thing I had learned, he didn't let anything, just slip by him.

"You did that deliberately, just to keep me here," I barked back. Squeaking wheels alerted me that I now stood, quivering visibly with suppressed emotion. Was I angry? _Was I?_

"Here, you'll need this," he totally ignored his effect on me and pushed cold metal into my hand. Astonishment and shock took over, at the object in my hand and the emotion inside. Not angry?

"A gun! What do I need a gun for?" Blurted out mindlessly, too occupied with identifying just what emotion I had. Not fear; not of the weapon. Ah… not much this is. My fingers tightened before the gun slipped to the floor and I shuddered.

"We gonna head off the bad guys."

"Isn't that what Security's for," squeaked from me. Now I sounded like the chair, both our worlds out of our control.

"Mac, right here, SECURITY, stitched on my shoulder."

Cochran grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out into the corridors of the SGC. I'd been trained to handle weapons, but my profession allowed me to stay away from them, far away. They brought death and emotional trauma, and I could feel this one, slick and hot in my trembling hand. It had been bad enough that I'd nearly shot my own instructor in training, missing him by a scant inch, but this was worse. I might have to use the damned thing. Targets are one thing; people are something else entirely. Yet… if I shot the right person? No, don't go there. I'm a lousy shot; I'd probably hit myself instead.

Pushed and prodded, a faster pace allowed me to actually forget the weight of death in my hand. What did he think he was doing? I'm a colonel; he should show a little more respect for my rank. Only I couldn't get his attention to remind him.

"Damn. Damn. I hadn't expected them to act so soon…" Cochran muttered to himself as he hurried us down two more levels, his fingers dug into my arm painfully. To avoid his grip I broke into a trot, and then we were clattering though the stairwells. Dust clung to the railings and made our footing slippery and every few steps my escort snipped about sounding like a herd of deer in tap shoes. Easy for him to say, he made just as much noise. More. And I would have told him so, if I hadn't been too busy breathing.

We finally arrived at the Infirmary level; quietly we crept out into a side access to the main corridor that began at the elevators. Suddenly I was pushed into a recessed doorway, an alcove that had been one of the old ladder wells that used to provide access to the levels above. "Sssh," echoed in my ear as Cochran wedged me into a corner and pressed back into me, covering half my body, his arm across my upper chest as he steadied himself against the doorjamb. His rapid breathing caused his body to grind against mine at shoulder and hip, and his elbow rhythmically bumped my sternum.

It was night and only minimal lights pierced the unnatural gloom, a shadow crossed in front of us and Cochran stiffened, his breathing seemed to stop. My eyes followed the man-sized shadow until lit by one of the few dim lights. Lt. Van Sickle. The young officer turned in the direction of the Infirmary and vanished, his echoing steps the only remaining sign of his presence. He had to have just come from the same stairwell we had, mere seconds behind us.

Before Cochran could breathe again, more shadows. These, less distinct, hugged the shadows; they came from the opposite direction we had and disappeared in the same direction as the lieutenant. Cochran uttered a curse under his breath as he slid out into the now empty corridor, his chest heaved with some suppressed emotion. Hard eyes glinted in the low light, his face hard as stone. 'Murder in his eye' now had meaning, this man scared me and I stayed frozen in the corner, afraid to attract his attention. Now was not the time to quibble about rank and protocol. Not without a fully loaded syringe.

The harsh sound of my fear-driven breath must have drawn his eyes to me and I cringed when his steel stare enveloped me, then the strangest expression passed over his rigid face, it softened and he became Cochran again. I'd only seen this once before, with O'Neill; but O'Neill was much better at wiping it out as if it had never existed. Cochran, thank goodness, didn't express the resentment O'Neill had when I witnessed his, Cochran showed only a worried and somewhat regretful look, yet I still shrank back at his approach. My reaction hurt him. 'I' hurt him. He wasn't normally this way, always with the idiotic humor, now gone as if it never existed, in its place only the pain, like someone had kicked him -- me. His gaze drifted to the main corridor, a different hardness built across his face, a determination, and a softer form of the unyielding stone his face had been before; his thoughts very obviously on other matters, less painful ones.

My spine tingled with discovery. This reaction, this was it. This is how O'Neill coped. It was so obvious, he…

"We have to follow. The kid being here is what flushed them out. Everything revolves around him and O'Neill got sucked up in the vortex. Stay behind me and be quiet." His voice soft, clear and steeped in 'no nonsense,' I obeyed -- unwillingly -- but I obeyed. Someone had to protect the moron from himself. What I'd give for that syringe.

Suddenly the SGC was the backdrop for melodrama. Here we were, two officers in service to the greatest nation on the face of the planet slinking though darkened halls following shadows. The 9mm was heavy in my hand, not for the first time did I contemplate using it as a blunt instrument on Cochran. Unconscious he could be spirited from possible harm, which, like some fool, I intended to follow him into. All my self-preservation had evaporated not long after meeting him; thus, my imitation of a shield at that deserted store, my foolish protection of Dr. Jackson. What sane person would attempt to stop a bullet like that?

A rough hand in my chest pulled me back to the here-and-now. Cochran, with weapon raised, peeked around the corner that lead to the Infirmary. This was getting too close to a James Bond film for me. Carefully he withdrew his head and let his steel-filled hand descend, gun against thigh. See, James Bond-ish. He leaned back against the wall, his head propped there, his eyes closed. He was still for just a moment, before he raised his free hand, from his fist an index finger was shaken out, held a beat, then fisted again. It and the next finger next appeared to point his eyes, and then the index finger was alone to point down the hall. I hadn't the faintest idea what this was all about, too much deviation from Broccoli's script for me.

"Wha…?"

Like lightening his chest was to mine, pressing me into the wall, his free hand clamped over my mouth, his weapon pointed at the junction of halls. His wide, and now open, eyes bored into me, but he wasn't there, they were cold and dead -- lifeless. My own eyes were my only means of expression -- hand over my mouth -- and desperately I tried to knock on his soul's windows. There had darned well better be someone home!

Finally his rapid breathing and mind slowed, it was then that I noticed the tilt to his head. He was listening. I'd thought, well... I don't know what I'd thought. He was capable of anything and he was constantly proving that.

My revelation was short lived; then he finally answered my previous silent knock. He was back and pissed as hell. Oh my! I shrugged as best I could and darted my eyes at my eagles; I'd done something, only I didn't know what. He must have figured out my confusion, his whole face smile cockily, and then he leaned in, like he was going to nuzzle my ear. I squirmed, remembering his horseplay in the bedroom. He pressed me more firmly into the wall, making me feel childish and stupid. Colonels shouldn't be in positions like this.

"Hold still," puffed softly into my ear, so close I swore his tongue flicked it. "One hostile, standing guard outside the Infirmary," his eyes were glued to mine and I nodded my head; he started to remove his hand. "No talking."

Not interested in talking, what about giggling? I had this overwhelming desire to giggle hysterically. Why do I wind up playing the dame to his hero? Just so thankful that it just appeared that way, I sighed in relief.

As I relaxed in his hold, he began to let go and relax himself, he went away again, only this time I was sure he was mulling over his options. He listened, and glanced back the way we had come. He raised a finger to his lips. 'Quiet.' I understood that. His hand landed on my shoulder and briefly pressed me against the wall. 'Stay.' I understood that too. Don't tell me. He's a dog person isn't he?

Cochran moved quietly down the hall to a closed door, opened it and disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. I waited. Like a damned fool I waited, my heartbeat sped up, my palm sweated and the weapon there threatened to slip to the floor, _again_, I moved it to the other hand and wiped my palm down my pant leg. If I had any brains at all I'd slip his leash and run for it. This growing feeling of fondness for the man had me doing the exact opposite of prudence. And smack in the face of self-preservation I had the strangest thought. Did I dare move; follow him; peek around the corner even? What? What truly stupid thing do I do now?

Before I could make another mistake Cochran emerged from the doorway, a white bundle in his hand. Again he was between me and the edge of the cross-corridor; carefully he did a visual check. He shook out his bundle as he turned to me, a lab coat. Taking my gun, he wedged it into the back of his pants before urging me to don the coat. Once I had it on he miraculously produced a clipboard, complete with paper and pen. Oh my, I felt a mistake coming on.

Vigorously I shook my head. He just as vigorously nodded his. Shook. Nodded. Shook. Nodded. Shook. Shook. What?

Cochran moved to go down that corridor where the hostile was. He called my... well, it wasn't a bluff! I don't care what it might look like, it wasn't that; he forced my hand. The fool would get himself killed. Against all instinct I reached out a hand, grabbed his shoulder, and spun him back towards me, I nodded.

He returned my nod solemnly, squeezed my shoulder quickly and then stepped aside.

Oh my! Surely SUCKER is stitched on _my_ sleeve.

Putting my back to our hidden alcove, I quietly retreated about twenty feet in the wrong direction, each foot my backbone urged me to continue, perhaps even run. Run very fast. Doing an about-face I saw Cochran, I couldn't quite make out his expression, but his body spoke of confusion and disappointment. I strode forward, noisily. Like I hadn't a care in the world, I closed out my newfound friend and patient, concentrated on the clipboard, and flipped pages up and down, making as much noise as I could. Right down the center of the hall and did a sloppy turn into the main corridor, headed for the Infirmary.

I belong here. I belong here. I belong here. Nothing wrong here. Nothing. _I'm going to die._

He had to see me. He had to see me. That was the new mantra that beat though my head at an every increasing rate, keeping up with my frightened heart. Any moment now I might feel the impact of a full-metal jacket projectile. Might even hear the gun it sped from. I almost passed the entrance. I came to an abrupt halt, flipped a couple of pages, twisted on my toes and looked straight at the hostile and frowned at him.

My mind gibbered as I desperately held onto the image of a cowardly, sycophantic sergeant -- mine to command. OH MY!

Acting class was coming in handy.

"Why am I the last one to hear about stuff like this? Just why is there a guard on the Infirmary now?"

The man snapped to attention at my huffy words and answered.

"Don't know, Sir. I just follow orders, Sir."

He stepped forward, following my path towards the double doors, until he was almost pressed back against them, his arm extended just short of touching me.

"Stand aside," I sneered and tugged the lab coat's lapel. 'Oscar winning performance,' danced across my thoughts like the Rockettes. "It's rather obvious isn't it? I'm a doctor and this IS the Infirmary."

A worried look flitted across his face before his eyes came to rest on my breast pocket, my very naked breast pocket. He smiled. Oh... ah, oh...? Yes -- CRAP!

The man's body swayed forward and I began to step back. An arm emerged from the darkness to wrap around the pseudo-guard's throat and I watched in fascination as the man's eyes bugged out. Slowly his newly slackened body was lowered as it hung from that disembodied arm. Only when he lay at my feet did I notice an insanely grinning Cochran, his finger pressed to his lips.

'Quiet.' That's what he meant; I was totally amazed that I remembered my obedience training.

Rooted to the hallway floor I let Cochran enter the Infirmary. What he did there I couldn't say? How long he was gone was enough time for me to realize just how naive I was; how useless I was and how I might be someone's death if I didn't start taking this whole bizarre turn of events far more seriously.

About the time I'd worked up the gumption to charge after him, Cochran returned. Making useless, empty gestures of lifting and pulling, I followed him as he dragged the downed man into the Infirmary, which was probably what he had tried to tell me he was going to do. He should have just said it. Behind the double doors Cochran expertly flipped his prisoner onto his face and used the man's own belt and shoelaces to truss him up before shoving a nearby towel between his teeth. With a flourish he rolled the pseudo-guard under a bed in the nearby corner.

Cochran looked a little startled when he turned away from his completed task to see me watching him, a flick of his eyes beyond me spun me to look in that direction and I understood his expression all too well. All that mulling over of taking this more seriously hadn't done a thing for my track record. Two short-heel clad, shapely ankles extended out into the walkway along the ranked beds behind me. Fraiser! Damn. MacKenzie you are just no help at all.

This time I took myself in hand, remembering how silently Cochran had dispatched and hidden our pseudo-guard; I quickly and quietly make my way to the stricken doctor. My nostrils flared at the odor rising from her body -- Chloroform. Her rising and falling chest was a great relief. Gently I slid my hands along her body to check for injuries, there were none. Thank God.

A quick glance up showed me that Cochran was alert to us being very much exposed here in the middle of the room. I needed to be smarter or someone was going to get hurt -- like me.

Fraiser's office was only two beds away and I knew she kept a cot there. Many times she would stay for days on end, catching naps when she could. Carefully I pulled her to the open door and inside. She was small, but limp; I had to struggle to get her up onto the cot. A few minutes passed as I arranged her limbs and covered her with a blanket. At the last minute, I pulled it over her head; she wouldn't be as easy to see in the dark room. And how many people would bother a body covered like the dead? As much as I wanted too, I couldn't stay. Cochran was loose and I needed to keep up with him.

The thudding in my head from my too rapid heart had faded; noises drew my attention. They came from the direction of Colonel O'Neill's private room at the back of the Infirmary; I saw that Cochran heard them too. He was quivering with the need to investigate, but had held steady while I attended to Fraiser. His eyes asked me to remain and I nodded as he handed back the hated weapon. Gingerly I accepted the responsibility of his back. That is the proper term, wasn't it?

What! What am I doing? This becoming a statue was becoming inane. Time to start using my brain. Concentrate man, concentrate.

All right, Cochran was off investigating the noises. There was no telling how many others besides our pseudo-guard was here. And standing midway between the two exits of the room in plain sight just didn't seem smart. Slowly I spun in place, even dipping down to my haunches to check under the beds for lurkers. Couldn't even see the one I knew was there. Maybe that wasn't too smart.

Doors, something about doors. Oh, my. I needed to keep them both in view, so I edged my way towards the exit Cochran had taken and eventually positioned myself along the edge of it, from there I could see the main doors too. Ah... maybe this wasn't too smart either. I could be plainly seen from those doors. Ah... can't be helped, I was hidden from the most obvious danger, the noises. Pressing my body as tightly to the wall as possible, making myself as small as I could, I strained to listen.

Unfortunately I did hear something, a choked off yell and probably a scuffle, the squeak of hinges and footsteps coming for me. My brain froze, caused my mind to return to that not long-gone state of gibbering, it had a nasty habit of choking out all possibility of logical thought. Clenching my eyes tightly shut I tensed. I knew I was done for. I could kill this man, but there was at least another somewhere, I thought. Besides anything I did do would alert any others of my presence, I'd just be delaying my own demise. What do I do?

The footsteps stopped just inside the room I cowered in. Eternity was never this long. I ceased to breath. I was a speck of nothingness in an infinity that wheeled around me. There was nowhere to hide. My life began to flash before my eyes and made me nauseous -- motion sickness.

The slight scuffling of the intruder's feet created a white noise in my brain that nothing penetrated. Days, years, seconds -- I didn't know -- passed. Dawn rose on my so-called superior mind as breath recommenced. Now if I could just catch my breath. Ever so slowly I opened one eye and I discovered I was more than twelve feet from the exit, crammed beside a tall storage cabinet. Three beds between me and where I knew I had stood awaiting my fate. I had no memory of moving, none what so ever. And best of all -- I was alone!

Ooh, my!

Envy grew slowly. This was exciting, in a dumb sort of way. O'Neill and Cochran did this kind of stuff often. Bet they didn't have thoughts like this, no they probably would have jumped at the change of hand-to-hand with some intruder. My mind went round and round this revelation until I realized that I was procrastinating. Cochran. Where was Cochran?

OH, my.

Very much against my will I returned to the exit and worked my way to O'Neill's door. There were muted voices and grunts of pain; a sound like the soft thud of boot against flesh. Bubbles formed in my blood, down around my toes. Each noise, no matter how innocent sounding seemed to have Cochran as the painful center of its creation. The bubbles rose and increased in number. I felt fevered. A cry sounded and I was through the door very much like I'd gotten those twelve feet, no effort and no memory.

"Hold it right there."

My first perception was of the man who uttered that command, a command I followed. Becoming a statue seemed commonplace by now, I saw he held a 9mm to O'Neill's temple; his eyes were closed. O'Neill's, not the man with the gun. Those eyes held the light of triumph, a man in control. Another person relieved me of my own 9mm. He ripped the weapon from my nerveless fingers, and strode across the room and delivered a savage kick to a body sprawled on the floor. So hard was the kick that the man's face was revealed. Cochran. Oh, my. My bacon was most assuredly cooked; or was that crisped?

Anger swept though me, this was worse than when someone dared touch my Cadillac, leaving greasy fingerprints on its flawless maroon sheen. That's my captain they were abusing. Any foolish thoughts of retribution were stopped like water to a fire by a muffled groan. Tied hand and foot to a chair was Lt. Van Sickle, his one eye widened and blazed with fury, a towel stuffed in his month like Cochran had done with the pseudo-guard.

The short tough -- Oh, my, yes, there were two of them -- that had kicked Cochran backhanded the young man, snapping his head to one side.

"Knock it off," came from the first man, a tall, broad brute that coolly stood on the other side of Colonel O'Neill's bed. My gaze drifted to the man in the bed, the colonel's eyes were now open, if somewhat glazed. He was drugged; his pupils like saucers, and aimed at the bound lieutenant.

"And, you, who the hell are you?"

Addressed to me, the words distracted me from watching as the shorter man cuffed the lieutenant yet again. In the background gibbering of my own chaotic thoughts the man's retort to that first demand was something like: 'I'm trying.' My eyes fell to Cochran for just a moment before facing the obvious leader of the two interlopers. Obvious since he was doing all the commanding, and all the talking.

Nothing seemed to come from my mouth, I couldn't force out an answer. My brain kept shouting at me, only I wasn't listening.

"Hey, I asked you a question, stupid."

All I could do was watch as the lead thug stepped around the hospital bed, turning his back on Colonel O'Neill, showing his contempt for the injured officer in a most dangerous way. I kept expecting the colonel to jump up and ping the man with his pinky and knock him senseless, right up to the moment the thug's hand slammed into my face and pushed me back a step.

"Answer me."

O'Neill just lay there, the short thug laughed and nudged Cochran with his foot, having apparently tired of battering the lieutenant who now sat with his chin rested on his chest. Blood shown along the top of his pale cheek. My brain was still screaming at me as the tall lead thug shoved me back another step.

"Hey, are you deaf?"

My eyes flitted to O'Neill.

"He's not gonna help ya. Not as long as Georgie has the kid," sing-songed the tall thug as he shoved me in the direction of his cohort, I clumsily tripped over Cochran's feet and went down, sharply rapping my head against the wall. Both of the thugs laughed uproariously at my predicament. But the blow must have knocked the ice from my thoughts. My brain's shouts became clear: Cochran, his eyes had been open and he winked.

Of course, my first instinct was to verify this by actually looking at Cochran, but I knew that would draw the attention of at least one of our assailants. Colonel O'Neill was unwilling or unable to help; Cochran was the only one who could do anything. Well, besides me, but I didn't have the faintest idea what I could do. There were two of them. I'm a psychiatrist, and contrary to popular myth I can't analyze them to death.

It was then that I saw Dr. Jackson; the bed had been between him and me. He lay stretched out along the wall out of immediate sight. The tall thug must have stood between him and the bed when I had entered. A folded white graze strip lay across his neck. They must have chloroformed him as they had Dr. Fraiser. They had taken the Infirmary in a high security base in the middle of the night because only two people lay between them and... O'Neill? They weren't after Lt. Van Sickle were they?

Oh, my!

This was not what Cochran had theorized, he was here to protect the lieutenant first, his assumption was all wrong. O'Neill was their primary target; he wasn't just someone who happened to have been dragged into the fray. That would mean they were probably another group, with totally different reasons for what they were doing. They were willing to use Lt. Van Sickle to get the colonel's cooperation. Only they hadn't seemed to notice that the good colonel was drugged to the gills and probably couldn't do as they desired even if he tried. I needed to do something. I was the only one here that had an inkling of just how serious this situation has suddenly gotten.

With a lightening move I swept my legs out and knocked the arrogant cretin down. Laugh at me will you! And like we had coordinated it, Cochran exploded from the floor, elbow aimed for the stomach of the still upright man, bringing him down with a pained cry.

As the tall man withered on the floor I contemplated what I should do next, Cochran didn't, he knew what to do as he smoothly moved from the man he'd just downed to the taller, who struggled to rise from the floor. They grappled, Cochran tried to wrest his weapon from him.

A quick glance showed the shorter of the pair out cold as I pushed my body upright against the wall. My eyes lit on a stout bedpan. What luck -- a weapon! Claiming my find I moved unsteadily to the pair tussling on the floor and I waited for my chance.

The weapon they both struggled for shot away from them and skittered between my legs just as I brought my handy bludgeon down, and missed. Cochran slumped to lie beside the tall man; I backpedaled at my horrible mistake. Something blurred across my field of vision and smashed into the thug knocking him senseless. Startled I stepped back again, only my foot slipped, I'd stepped on the loose gun. Using the bedpan as a balance weight I swung my arm wide. It jarred in mid arc, my head exploded at the same instant. Dark.

**Major Sam Carter**

For two days I have watched the man I believed I loved shut himself away from the world. For two days, I've held his limp unresponsive hand in mine, wishing he'd wake. Wishing I could lay hot lips on pale skin. Vainly I tried to push away thoughts of intimate contact with him. Yes, I'd indulged in touch, brazenly taking every opportunity to feel and map any exposed skin. My hands never stopped, even exploring his dimensions though gown and sheet. Trailing fingers along lean legs, long arms and protruding collarbones. No part of him seemed safe from my hand.

Even drunk on the sensations created though such contact, it paled. What fun can one have when the other cannot or will not join in? And that is the question at the moment. He can join in. His legs may never work as easily as they had before, but they still feel, that expanse of skin can still become just as heated. Oh, there will have to be some concessions made, the natural aggressor will have to learn new ways of aggression. Playing submissive to his dominance would be more truthful than seemly. And in that I would need to be very careful, he does not strike me as a forceful person in the gentle arts of intimate friendship; but as a compassionate, considerate and loving companion, soft as a gentle rain, and rain wears mountains to plains with its infinite patience.

To be too willing to be his mountain could create a drought, perhaps an endless drought. The man thinks too much and expects the impossible from himself. Such willingness he would see as pity and an ultimate blow to his hidden ego. If only that resembled his public one, not as large as one might guess, but far healthy and more resilient.

Life has taught him that wanting leads to never having. He has learned that lesson well, he does not reach for what he wants, and he is convinced it will be snatched from him, usually in the most horrendous of ways. He now watches and protects -- his desire hidden. No more!

My eyes open to a hundred tiny flames, bobbing and flickering in the mechanically circulated, sterile air beneath a mountain of stone.

"You have made a decision."

"Yes."

"I shall accompany you."

With a litheness any would believe beyond a man of his bulk, Teal'c raises far more gracefully from the floor than I could. I depend heavily on his helping hand; I will need all my strength for the coming confrontation. And I am grateful for his presence; he will be the distraction, preventing Janet from doing her duty. Preventing HIM punishing himself for not being indestructible, from throwing away an opportunity for happiness -- his and mine.

My purposeful march though the dark halls slowed; Teal'c too felt it. Something was wrong. Airmen who should be in certain places were not; lights that should be on were off. The closer we came to the Infirmary the more that was wrong. At first they were just small items, but fast adding up to trouble. My urge to speed up was tempered by Teal'c's hand on my arm, he pushed me to the rear, and began to demonstrate an ability at stealth only the colonel could rival.

Little light leaked from under the double doors, silently, carefully, we moved though the dark and empty Infirmary. Sounds drew us towards Colonel O'Neill's room, our original destination. Together, Teal'c and I burst though the door, the air echoed with foul curses.

Across the carnage I watched as a stranger jerked the pillow from under the colonel's head, at first I thought him unconscious until I saw the glint of his eyes as the light reflected from them. He was clearly awake.

"Die you sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch," shouted the bloody faced stranger.

The looming presence of Teal'c was distant, he moved away, why I didn't know. The colonel's face filled my vision, an expression of resignation sat on his pale features, his eyes closed as the pillow descended to cover his face. The man leaned into it, elegant fingers lay unmoving atop the green-tinted sheets of the bed; Jack made no attempt to defend himself.

That part of me that was Major Carter wailed for my attention, somehow I knew Teal'c fought yet another stranger, the distinctive sounds of hand-to-hand combat hollowly echoed behind my military persona's cries. But, as Samantha, I was too stunned to react.

tbc...


	21. Chapter 21

Geez, what can I say? I'm slow, but I hope somewhat worth the wait. Although this time I do have a good excuse. After looking for almost thirty years I found my brother. And he told me of the sister I had no idea about. Which lead to nephews, nieces and a cousin. Exchanging 50 to 60 years of family information can be endless. BG

JoleneB

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

**Teal'c**

The thick atmosphere of malevolence built with each step closer to O'Neill. Ominous signs of trespass were plain to see. O'Neill was in danger, or it had trailed his young Chosen. GeneralHammond refused to release the young warrior immediately to PBX 123, and he would stay for now and return with the additional supplies. I believe that many had a hand in delaying LtVanSickle's departure. He may have decided to visit my brother in the night, and in so doing unwittingly brought disaster to one he never wished to harm.

DanielJackson was currently at O'Neill's side, and DoctorFrasier had taken on sole supervision of the Infirmary, as most personnel were involved in inventorying medical supplies. The Tau'ri have a fixation about knowing exactly what is on hand, I would not judge this trait as bad. Knowledge is power.

I would not see any endangered, but there was a good chance that all were involved in the wrongness that pervaded these darkened halls like a foul stench.

Samantha and O'Neill hold each other's hearts; I would fight to see them live to do more than long for one another from afar.

Reaching out, I slowed MajorCarter's determined march; she too could feel the foreboding malice; and would face it unstintingly. But, she was under O'Neill's protection, and thus under mine. She did not protest my presumption, just nodded and trailed behind me, my 'six' was now her concern -- mine, her life.

Carefully we explored ahead, only a thin band of dull light shown from beneath the doors of the Infirmary. From the many hours spent in the facility I knew that more light should be visible, someone had deactivated not only the light above the outside entrance but also its twin on the inside.

There was no resistance on our entry, but voices could be heard beyond the main ward, in the direction of O'Neill's current beneficial captivity. Silently we glided to the door that my brother lay behind. From beyond the portal could be heard harsh and angry oaths of the foulest of words, even for the immensely creative Tau'ri languages, enough to disturb even me. The angry tread of booted feet crossing the room beyond forced me into action. Thrusting the door open, I swiftly moved within, Major Carter my shadow. Both of us were struck, transfixed, by what greeted our eyes -- the debris of battle; bodies lay sprawled across the room. Two unfamiliar bloodied men were the only who seemed to live. One of which was in the process of abusing O'Neill's Chosen.

Hesitation was unthinkable; MajorCarter would swiftly remedy my brother's assailant. Swiftly I crossed the room, catching the short man's arm by the wrist, his fisted hand neutralized, stopped short of striking the futilely huddled LtVanSickle. Yet a sudden flash of silver did what has not been done in many years -- taken me by surprise. Something hard and unyielding smashed into my face and I staggered back; more from the suddenness of the brazen attack than from pain. Through pain there was, my symbiote would remedy that. Another blow found its opportunity in my startlement, forcing me back another step. This was not something I had a great deal of experience with: Retreat.

Deep humiliation seeped into my being and thoughts of retribution clouded my judgment, opening me to further attacks. My focus narrowed, this human had impinged my honor and would pay. Now only he and I exist.

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

My tongue painfully rubbed over the damage my teeth had done to the inside of my cheek, only this creep's face would tell me how much showed. Harsh breaths sounded in my ear, his and mine. Vibrations strong enough to tickle my skin emanated from whoever this guy was. He wanted to hurt me and hurt me bad; and he did, every time the second, taller guy wasn't looking. He held this creep's reins and wasn't about to let him do as he pleased. For that I was confused, but somewhat thankful. Even if every time he tugged his dog back those vibrations intensified. Malice beat in searing waves against my skin, reminding me of the stinging rain of PBX 123 and the despair that had rooted then.

Fiercely I fought the urge to spew the blood from my mouth and onto this man, I really wanted to look into his eyes and truly express my feelings. To widely grin and show my blood-stained teeth, to let him know that if given the slightest chance that I would kill him. Imaginary fingers dug into his fleshy neck already, his breath came haltingly and his eyes bulged. Jerking my wrists against tight bindings I strained to make it real, to even lock lips with him on his last breath and fill his mouth with my blood to let him drown in it. It was so hard not to smile as he cuffed me for my lapse.

To look defeated, to act cowed, burned at me, my emotions a jumble, but I'd mostly learned and kept my head. Only that would pull me through and grant me the opportunity to aid my friend -- Jack.

What kind of luck was this? I'd never expected to be kept on base this long, much of which I'd spent asleep or desperately trying not to run here for comfort and reassurance. My friend certainly didn't need that right now, he was fighting his own body, to recover himself. The rumors told me it did not go well for him and I wanted to be here, but there was always someone with him. I still felt like an intruder, even after the realization that he and I only conjured the wall between us; it had never existed.

Tonight, knowing that I would leave in the morning did I break and sought him out. Only to walk into... I didn't know. Assassination attempt was my highest choice, but the tall one, the holder of this dog's leash seemed too interested in ranting at my drugged friend. Revenge?

Now I sat a prisoner, a punching bag for his bored companion. A man who I'm sure didn't care who I was as long as he found me entertaining. Bound by restraints more subtle than the rough ones that rubbed at my skin, I pushed down the nausea, and swallowed my own blood. There would be a time and place for payback. There just had to be.

As the ranting at the colonel increased so did the blows I received, the dog's leash too slack to curb him. My world was becoming a blur of snapping images and bursts of light, blood dripped down my chin unchecked. And I found it hard to stay conscious. I must not miss an opportunity. I mustn't. I won't.

Unable to look at the dog's face and prompt another blow for doing so I watched the rest of him intently and was surprised when the cocked arm didn't fly forward. This had not been the first time: a feint, a cruel respite -- the better to torture me. Unlike that first time I was determined to remain awake, vainly I braced for the resumption of blows. Only the waiting remained, I had nothing to give for any other activity.

I wailed silently at the fact that opportunity was safe from me, will alone wasn't always enough.

**Major Sam Carter**

Samantha was in control and too stunned to move as the hero-of-billions, the savior-of-worlds and holder-of-my-heart submitted meekly to death. This was wrong on so many levels, chaos reigned inside me, and something had to give.

With a savage cry, an echo of the rip in my heart at his submission, Sam shoved Samantha, freeing Major Carter. Muscles bunched as my military persona's training kicked in, feet ate ground, and body took flight. Then the jarring impact of my flesh against my commander's assailant, up-and-down tumbled in my vision as I carried the man to the floor, forcing arms and legs around his body to trap him, my head a weapon of opportunity to disable him.

He and I slammed into the floor, my head finally connecting with his and I saw stars. Through the light show I was shocked to see another person, to recognize a face -- Daniel -- his eyes wide in surprise, but somehow dull and glazed. He lay sprawled along the edge of the floor, pressed against the wall; somehow I knew he had been dealt with, taken out of the picture, leaving the colonel defenseless.

The colonel had been at the callous mercy of others far too much in his life and to think that here, with his team around him, he was again lain open to another's uncaring whims. Guilt burned at my heart and anger gave me strength as I began to overpower the intruder, he had dared attack my team, my friends and my heart's desire. Mercy would not be shown. My elbow found its mark in his throat, he gurgled a near-scream; and then I pressed my forearm before my weight and cut off that sound by denying him air. Finally he went limp, but I continued, keeping up the pressure far longer than was safe. If he died, so be it. But I refused to be forced to worry about this vermin, or turn my back to any threat to aid the colonel or my team. Stopping the threat permanently was the only answer.

Daniel, from shear proximity, would be my first concern. While I had dealt with the interloper he had somehow levered himself from the floor and indicated that he would seek help, his finger steered me back to Colonel O'Neill -- Jack. Those four letters squeezed my heart painfully, just as it also angered me. How dare he give up!

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

An ache so deep that it bordered on pain was my first sensation; it throbbed with the volume and proximity of my discovery of sound. Stray thoughts of ending the booming and screeching drifted across the lightening plain of consciousness. Each reluctant beat of my heart brought new revelations to my existence, such as a nearly overwhelming nameless panic. Something was wrong. What was it?

Sensations assailed me and drew my attention away from the panic. Something gossamer light and raspy with a stink that set off bells of alarm lay across my throat, such detailed information from a patch of skin that daily bore the rub of rough military issue cloth silently bewildered me as fingers that could feel the very stir of air had no information whatsoever to offer.

Emerging from the confusion of senses I found that I lay on the hard floor propped at an uncomfortable angle against a wall. The sounds around me resolved into the rustling of linens, the shifting of booted feet against linoleum-clad concrete and the howls of a demented soul.

My body cringed against the sound and its reaction pushed the whispering ache into a howling pain. One long, high pitched screech nearly had me arching my back as it sliced though me; and I jerked instinctively as something momentarily shoved at an ankle. All combined, forced me into action and my eyes unwilling popped open. To my surprised they worked. Before me were two struggling bodies, one with the bright blue eyes of Sam. Fascinated I watched as they latched onto me. Sam? It was Sam, but...

Flashes of Jack, that stink and an unrelenting pressure against my face; lingering memories of hands, arms and vague feelings of violation, helplessness and a primal need to fight back. All overlaid with an urgency that was Jack -- he was helpless.

Pushing aside the kaleidoscope of images I concentrated on the struggle before me, the man Sam was so busy choking was unknown to me. His presence explained many of the images, I had been accosted, knocked out by some kind of drug; that stink, that cloth. Jack had been... was in danger. Sam would help, she would protect him; but... she was alone. The man she straddled bucked and writhed against her, he was big, really big. I knew how strong she could be, but...

Help, I needed to get help.

Fighting against the intense pressure to succumb, I somehow passed on to Sam that I was going for help and had actually taken a few shaky steps toward the main ward when a heavy weight crashed into me. It and I struck the wall together. The leading edge of a sonic boom pushed the pressure in my head beyond my ability to handle.

I had two fleeting thoughts before awareness winked out, how hard the wall was and why was there a plane in the room.

**Major Sam Carter**

Roughly I pulled the pillow from the colonel's face, expecting to see guilt-ridden eyes, feeble movements and half-hearted protests. None would work, he would answer for his lack of self-preservation, by confession or explanation. Neither of which I was prepared to accept, nothing less than honest apology would slow my anger.

Just laying eyes on his face was enough to fuse my usual fragmented self and Sam took firmer control, moderating Major Carter's anger, Samantha's terror and Sammy's horror at anything that smacked of death. Sam, an amalgam of all, took in the facts that would have destroyed the others singly. Instead of a sobbing wreck of a woman, here stood someone who would deal with facts, and the facts weren't good.

No amber eyes greeted me, no hoarse voice and no movement. His chest was utterly still. Only for an instant did I imagine I would fly apart at the idea that Jack may have died. But being part of SG-1 teaches that death is not a final state, or even a guaranteed state of being. Death could be cheated, and one friend's profession had given me the tools to do just that.

Hands ripped down his gown. An ear proved death was not as well advanced as appearances said -- his heart beat.

_Damn, it Sir. A lot of people went to a lot of trouble to haul your ass out of the wilderness of PBX 123 and get you to this point. And you give up? _

**Teal'c**

This man is ha'tac. He sought to stand toe-to-toe with a Jaffa. Ha'tac, or 'clueless' as my brother is fond of saying. One who is without knowledge of his own danger. And that can be a danger in itself. He will fight unafraid and with all his skill. Light glistened off his skin; he sweated heavily. Grappling with him would be difficult, and I believe he knew this. He smiled as he curled his fingers in a gesture I knew was an invitation to close with him, to try to best him. An insult.

His weapon was not easily displayed; it swung from his blunt fingers and flashed dully. The sight of it angered me and my primta rolled in agitation, a warning that I was allowing my emotions too much play. I had allowed this human to surprise me. I shall not again.

With hardened resolve I availed myself of his invitation. It was during the first few feints with his weapon of opportunity that I saw what he hoped to achieve. There, to the side, lay a 9mm; further still lay MajorCochran and between them a dazed DrMacKenzie. These intruders were indeed dangerous. But soon they would be outnumbered. They were two against six who would defend O'Neill to the death.

This one would never taste their retribution -- that was mine.

Refusing to close at his invitation, the bedpan became a missile; he'd hoped to scoop up the more dangerous weapon. He was not entirely stupid. His fingers snatched it from the floor as the bedpan clanged loudly against the wall. My duck from it became a grasping lunge and I caught at his slick wrists hoping to wrest the weapon from him. It was like trying to hold an oiled tz'oc, a metal training tool. Long ago I had learned the secret to defeating it. Force was folly; guile would win the battle. Methodically I moved my grip, finger by finger to have only cloth beneath them.

His smile faded, and fear grew within the dull flint of his eyes. He knew what I was doing and what I would soon achieve. It was then that he tried to turn the 9mm on me. Bucking and jerking, he slowed my inexorable overpowering of his defenses. Then the weapon discharged.

**Dr MacKenzie**

Light switch.

That was how it was. No wonder these jocks could bound up from 'out cold' to fighting in the faction of a heartbeat. No awareness to full awareness. I blinked a few times and squinted to resolve shapes in the tear-distorted sights that glared at me. The dull roar that echoed in this too small space was shouts, curses and grunts. Even the guttural smacks of flesh against flesh, and that was soon explained by the swaying figures of two men locked in desperate struggle.

'Gun' twittered around inside my skull. It took me a few moments before I realized my eyes were glued to one as it swayed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. In real danger of immobility I pinched myself, the pain helped me break free of the snake spell the weapon had woven. The red flushed grimace I saw belonged to a short man. Wait. Didn't I just live through this before?

Gun, check. Short thug, check. Standing, no, no one had been standing. Teal'c, no. Teal'c? Wasn't Cochran...

In a panic I pushed myself up the wall in a déjà vu moment, wildly searching for the reason I wound up here.

There!

Behind me, nearer the door laid Cochran. Loosely curled and half sprawled, it wrenched my heart. I found that a surprisingly painful sensation. And... there was the instrument that laid him low, the one I'd used on him. A bedpan shaped scar in the wall above him explained how it came to rest against his chest and arm, tumbled there by gravity. Dry swimming to him I checked for a pulse, it was strong and steady. My fingers slid around the back of his head and I cringed at the size of the lump I'd put there.

There was no way he would know it was me, I reasoned, I'd hit him from behind. My face burned at the thoughts that spilled across my mind. Where was that resolve? Wasn't I going to be more aware of what was going on? Starting now! The slack body under my hand rocked and startled me before I could more than glance around, but that quick visual sweep told me that Teal'c and the short thug weren't the only ones here.

Though sounds of a commotion were coming from the other side of O'Neill's bed, I couldn't tear my gaze from the stirring Cochran to see what was going on. My idiot captain waking up wasn't a good thing, he would wade into the fray and get hurt, he was already hurt enough. I needed to get him out of here. I needed to do something. Only what?

My head snapped around at the cutoff scream, and found an even bigger surprise. Dr Jackson struggled to climb to his feet using the wall as support. Closer, a muffled curse drew me back to Teal'c, his back was to Jackson, and the gun was no longer above their heads. The short thug was trying to train it on the Jaffa, Teal'c's grip slipped and the gun's line of sight depressed and instinctively I followed it right to the staggering Jackson. My eyes swung back and forth, watching a shooting in slow motion. I could feel the cocking of the gun and imagine the report of the weapon and foresaw Jackson jerk as the steel-jacketed missile struck him.

Someone gripped my arm and triggered me into motion, I shot up and forward, straight into the gun's target, its very real and loud BANG sounded in my ears as I carried Jackson to the floor. A cold tug on my arm had the most unusual reaction. My body became solid ice and shattered.

**Major Sam Carter**

The world narrowed to colonel and I, and the flow of air between us. Even that expanse of his sensual chest held no allure. Pinching his nose, I rhythmically blew air past his lips, praying he would breathe on his own with each pause to suck in the next. Not once realizing the intimate position, the full contact of lip to lip, only the flaccid release of stale air from his lungs caught my attention.

"Breathe." Inhale. Blow.

Soon I had no breath left to beg him to breath.

'Damnit, breathe.' Inhale. Blow.

Even the mental comments faded.

Inhale. Blow. Inhale. Blow.

Inhale. Blow. Inhale...

**Teal'c**

Seldom am I placed to disadvantage by size, yet here I must tread softly. Too many I hold dear are around me, O'Neill's Chosen mere inches from our struggle, their protection my first concern. This ha'tac cares not, so I must limit his movements, reducing my superior strength and ability to a level closer to that of his own. It is times like this that the experience of nearly 70 years as a warrior can outstrip strength and ability. That is why Master Bra'tac is capable of 'repeatedly striking my rear end;' as I will now do with this braggart.

The discharging of the weapon we both struggled for became my advantage, he flinched, and I did not. My palm drove into his face, his head snapped back and his eyes rolled up into his head as reason fled before the shockwave of my experience. Just as I felt the man go limp in my grip and victory soared in my heart, certain sounds soured my victory: bodies crashing to the floor and a cry.

"Mac!"

With my hands busy unbuckling the sweaty human's belt I glanced in the direction of the shout, an unsteady MajorCochran struggled to gain his feet, DrMacKenzie was not to be seen. He no doubt was the source of the other sound that had been directly behind me, in the direction the weapon had pointed. Occupied with binding my prisoner's hands all I could do was check on MajorCarter, a quick glanced revealed she was bent over O'Neill, intent on his needs. Her opponent was nowhere to be seen. She is a formidable warrior, worthy of my bother. It is fortunate for him that he holds her in high regard, as she would be capable of doing great damage to him if pressed -- truly a woman to capture any warrior's heart.

Tugging on the makeshift bindings of this ha'tac I ceased to support him and derived great satisfaction at the thud his body made as it painfully dropped to the floor. Petty yes, but even the best of warriors feels a base pride in the humiliation of his enemy. I am not so lofty as to not also feel this.

Free to further investigate the carnage around me I opportunely turned in time to place a supportive hand on a tottering MajorCochran. My move brought into view the missing DrMacKenzie. However, I was not prepared to see the man draped across a bloodied DanielJackson, and I must admit that it pained me greatly to see him thus. The major uttered a moan of distress and lurched from my grip. Without my support he crashed to his knees beside the downed psychiatrist, his eyes glistened tellingly as his fingers probed at the man's neck. Bending, I helped to further pull the fallen doctor completely off of my teammate.

On examination the blood was not DanielJackson's and so must have come from the unlucky DrMacKenzie. My nostrils reacted to the stench of a chemical that rose from the limp body before me. Easily I cataloged it as a medical chemical used in rendering others unconscious for various reasons. My friend had been drugged so that these men would have clear access to my warrior bother. I had feared the worst when DanielJackson had not been evident on our arrival.

Relieved, I rose; and in a few quick strides my hand pressed the large red 'panic button' that every room was equipped with. Sirens and claxons wailed; the very walls vibrated with the movement of personnel. In mere minutes or less help of all forms would arrive.

**General George Hammond**

This base holds the biggest damn secret on the face of the planet and it seems that just about anyone could get in. Usually I would let my 2IC handle any fracas during my 'night.' _Like I actually had a schedule._ Considering this whole base was on alert because of my second, I'm elected to handle this.

It hadn't taken me long to roll out of my bunk, two SFs attached themselves to my six as soon as I cleared my quarters door. The Duty Officer arrived on a run before I'd cleared the hall.

"Shut off those claxons. Report."

The Duty Officer's second peeled off headed for the neared intercom.

"Sir, first reports are some kind of altercation in the Infirmary." The man's voice too loud in the sudden silent void, only the red of emergency lighting glowed in the gloom, the elevator picked out by the only white light.

"Lead the way, Major."

My attention on the short trip was on the information constantly being relayed via the Duty Officer's communication network. No comment was necessary, no interpretation offered. It was clear from the reports that there were injuries in the Infirmary caused by an incursion of unauthorized personnel.

Arrival at the Infirmary level was announced by the unmistakable prepping of weapons and like the good commander I was I stayed put while my escort exited. Only when beckoned did I step out of the car and into the hall.

It was dark, too dark. But not so dark I couldn't see that half the Mountain was on this level and they fairly bristled with weapons. Warm pride burned in my veins along with anger that my base had been invaded.

Knowing my people had everything secured I stepped down the hall and into the Infirmary; here there was light, blazingly so. Forced to blink my eyes, I saw little groups of SFs and medical personnel. A large knot at Dr. Fraiser's office drew me in that direction. Inside, her own people were attending the woman herself.

"Get outta my light you moron," exploded from a kneeling man just inside the office, and I stepped aside.

"Get a detachment to fix the lights," I directed at the major. My voice must have registered on the man attending Fraiser.

"Sorry, Sir. Didn't know it was you."

"My mistake son. What's the situation here?"

"Not entirely sure, Sir. Looks to be drugged."

"Carry on."

"Yes, Sir."

She was in good hands, so my attention turned towards the commotion deeper in the Infirmary. Here I noticed the barely contained rage of the people, something had them upset. I knew that I was headed right for Colonel O'Neill's room. Because of the press of personnel I only stuck my head in the door. O'Neill was surrounded by a medical team, just one of four there. Teal'c stood smack in the middle room, a volcano about to erupt. He turned and gave me a nod before returning his attention to the far corner of the where two men trussed like supplicants were overshadowed by heavily armed and agitated SFs. And I raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"Major, I've seen enough. Let's get out of their way."

**XXX**

Four hours later I retraced my exact steps. I'd been kept informed, but seeing all those beds full of my people still hurt.

Dr Jackson and Major Carter were actively arguing with their attendants on one side of the ward, while Dr Fraiser was doing her damnest to escape her own bed to join in the fray. My arrival had been none too soon the silence was instantaneous. Only the loud growl of Major Cochran still rang in the room.

"Ha -- h'm."

"Hey, bring on the reinforcements. I'll kick their asses too!" His face turned a satisfying shade of red once he focused on the current cavalry. "Ah, Sir. General, Sir. Not your ass, of course, Sir."

"Major, do you want to explain yourself?" I asked in a mild tone, fully expecting him to zip it.

"Sir. General, Sir. MacKenzie just got out of surgery and I wanna..." The boy's mouth had a mind of its own and he was visibly struggling with it. "...ah, ah. I wanna shut-up. Yes, Sir. General, Sir. Shutting up." His transparent attempt to come to parade attention was thwarted by the tiny female nurse; she neatly hooked his foot out from under him at just the right time to prevent him getting more than a couple inches off the bed. And I smiled in gratitude to her and received a nod of acknowledgement in return. I wondered if she was on the rotation list for personnel going on off world assignments.

My enjoyment of the silence did not last long, shouts from down one of the inner halls were resolving into the voice of a certain 'dead or dying' psychiatrist. Those had been Major Cochran's words on my arrival. The volume of the voice belayed either condition. Shouts of the major's name had me wondering if I had stepped into a 'don't ask, don't tell' situation, and I turned my full glare onto the present half of what might turn out to be a couple.

His red face and grin was all I got as the circus act arrived.

"OW! You did that on purpose you cretin. I'm injured, what kind of sadists are you?"

The man was so busy with his mouth that the male nurse poked him again, and actually pointed in my direction.

"OW! What's with..." Obviously he'd followed the finger in my direction. "Oh. Now I really don't feel well." The nurse smile broadly as he tenderly eased the man back onto the gurney.

Command forces one to do the most outlandish things sometimes. And staying as Colonel MacKenzie was transferred to his bed seemed a good idea and I spent my time well by pointedly eying all of the occupants of the ward. Basically they weren't anymore than banged up and would only probably stay the night for observation. If there had been anyone more seriously injured I was certain that none of this behavior would have occurred. They were letting off steam, but as their superior I had to at least act as if I didn't approve of it.

Once my group was suitably cowed I briskly about faced and strode deeper into the wards. Here I found armed SFs. Or I should say more armed SFs. Two stood guard outside the Infirmary, but these men stood outside Colonel O'Neill's room. Inside would be a nurse on duty until further notice. There was no need for an armed presence inside as Teal'c had assumed that post. For not only was O'Neill present, but Lt. Van Sickle occupied a second bed that had been brought in.

Dr. Warner was attending to both men and turned at my arrival.

"Sir, I've just finished."

"How are they?"

"The Lieutenant has some nasty bruising, he'll be undergoing neural checks for the next 24 hours. He took some hits to the head. All just precautionary. If you could delay his departure for a day or two he should be good to go."

"Hmm, that is good news. And the Colonel?" Here I expected anything but good.

"Not as bad as first looks. Yes, he had stopped breathing, but not for long. Major Carter and Teal'c were able to manually ventilate him until help could arrive. Very minor setback. He's awake if you'd like to speak to him. Please don't excite him too much. He needs to get some rest, but he's not listening to me."

"Thank you, I'll not keep him long,"

Better than I'd hoped I thought as the doctor left. My eyes met Teal'c's; he looked, well, unhappy. I know I would if I'd appointed myself protector to these two and this happened. I felt for him.

I pulled up a chair and sat at the colonel's bedside, his eyes were closed.

"Colonel?"

"Sir?"

"How are you?"

"Thought you knew, Sir." His voice was low and tired sounding.

"Jack?"

"Sorry, Sir. You know how much I hate being discussed like that."

"Couldn't be helped, you know that," I grinned when he opened his eyes, but keeping that grin took all my skill. He eyes were haunted. This may have been a minor physical setback, but this looked like a major emotional setback. Jack was struggling already with way too much of that. I reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

"Colonel?"

"Sir?"

"Cut the bullshit and spill it," he looked suitable chastised, but definitely took his time in answering.

"I fucked up."

"Pardon me?" Jack doesn't often flush, but I got a good one this time. More evidence of just how vulnerable he was emotionally.

"I... I 'messed' up, Sir."

"And just how did you accomplish that from flat on you back and unable to move," my voice was harsh, my choice of words hurtful. My goal was to channel his irrational blame of himself into anger against who or what had it in for him and the young lieutenant. The crack about his inability to move his legs fired off the anger, but the man being who he is, controlled it. That was the problem; he controlled all of his emotions. He needed to unlearn some of that and unleash some demons.

"I should have anticipated..."

"From off world, from being so sick you didn't even know where you were?"

"I could have fought back."

"Why didn't you?" He didn't answer with words, but his eyes snapped to the silent lieutenant. "Didn't work too well, did it Jack?"

"No."

"I really don't think there is a correct way to act in such a situation. You've been there. Would you concur?"

"Yes. Damned if you do and damned if you don't, Sir."

"Damn right, Colonel. So... does this solve your problem?"

"No, I still have to explain to Carter."

"She'll understand, she pretty smart."

"That's the problem, Sir. Too smart."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Lips ground against mine, hands clawed at me, held me down and cursed me. Bright hair and eyes like deep crystal-clear water. Sam. I felt aroused and impotent at the same time. It hurt; it hurt so badly. Not the physical pain, but the hurt and betrayal I could see in those chips of blue. I tried to fight her off, to beg her to stop. But nothing moved. My God, nothing moved. Again the lips descended...

Jerking awake from something like that can hurt, I gasped from both types of pain. My jarred body protested vehemently and my heart and soul felt the hammer blow of rejection, and the sheer horror that I could imagine such a reaction from her. Fingers dug into the softness beneath them and held on for dear life, my breath too fast to provide what I needed to slow it. Panic had deeply set its hooks into me as I desperately attempted to calm myself.

"O'Neill?"

My friend's light touch gave me focus. To think a man of his size had the ability to be so gentle, and after the number of years he'd served that insane god-wannabe, so caring. It was enough to give even a cynic like me hope for the human race. Yeah, he wasn't human, not quite. But it mattered that the horrors he'd witnessed and caused hadn't destroyed the good in him.

Slowly his grave face resolved out of the jumble of shapes and colors, my shallow breaths allowed the exchanging out of carbon dioxide and allowed my natural breathing to resume. Too bad the memories of being hurt by the woman I loved couldn't be solved as easily. I knew why she haunted my sleep. Just another stupid move O'Neill.

"Jack?"

A familiar voice, welcome, wanted and oh so underserved. Teal'c did not move; he caught my eyes, his message clear. Then he stepped aside. Holding the mask in place was hard; the core of who I am was too close to the surface, making my deception very difficult. But knowing that my reaction would refract into an unknown pain or failure within the soul that filled such a vast desert within me -- I held firm. And as always the regret of my son's loss wafted though me like ghostly wings. Each time the feeling fed my determination that that tragedy would never be repeated.

It was one long moment before I realized that the eye nearly swollen shut was his living eye. Cold horror grew in the pit of my stomach.

"Lt.VanSickle is essentially unharmed, except he declares in pride."

Never have I wanted to kiss the man more than now. That would so totally confuse him, but he must have seen something in my face. The idea that Eric's sole eye had been endangered let the mask slip. I really am a mess, not even able to protect my friends from my own nameless insecurities.

"That's quite the shiner there. Must hurt like hell."

Gingerly his maimed hand came up and touched the discolored skin around his eye, he smiled and seemed just a bit preoccupied with what those reawakened fingers must have been saying.

"Yeah, it does. And feels funny too." His grin was infectious and even a Jaffa can smile, if you know what to look for. "But, you... you had us all worried."

Lifting my arms up a bit I made a show of checking out my body from chest to toes.

"Me? I seem to be pretty much here."

Nonchalantly I leaned back, afraid that at any moment the bone-deep fatigue would show, my arms felt as if they were shaking hard enough for even him to see. I fought the urge to close my eyes and let go. Then he said the words I'd feared, they were the reason for the mask.

"I should have stopped them."

"I should have stopped them." My emphasis heavy on the 'I.' He looked sideways at me for a moment, and then the stubborn streak in him rose.

"Just how..." And just as quizzical as he was stubborn, so I threw a verbal curve ball.

"Same way as you."

"But you couldn't..." His mouth audibly snapped shut on that forbidden thought, and I frowned.

"Neither could you... stop them that is." Neatly absolving him of mentioning what I refused to acknowledge and providing him with both my reasoning and an out. The room swooped a few times; sleep pulled at me. How did I get so unable to resist it? "You were knocked into the middle of next week before you got through the door. You woke up tied to that chair. Just what could you have done?"

The last sentence bit out, so tired that I was losing control of myself, injecting the anger I felt at his abuse, not him. And almost belatedly, I realized that these words were essentially Hammond's. My relief at Eric's next words was almost my undoing.

"Nothing, but survive it... as you did."

My eyes closed involuntarily, each eyelid was the equivalent dead lifting of the 'gate itself to reopen them. My head was swimming now; tracking the conversation and the flashes of emotion across his battered face beyond me.

"It is fortunate that an agreement has been reached. LtVanSickle needs to rest, I have promised DrFrasier to not waver on this point." Teal'c declared as he slid his body between us, blocking me from the younger man's view. My friend's words a well-timed smoke screen as I was slipping fast into sleep, and I knew I could not prevent it. Teal'c lowered the light and admonished not only Eric, but also myself that rest would be a prudent step for us both.

My parting thought towards my brother-in-arms was a grateful declaration of: 'Liar.'

**General George Hammond**

This was not what I had expected, and I roughly shuffled through the orders just delivered by secure courier. Too many people seemed to know what was happening on this base. Someone was pulling strings and endangering the program, and worse, endangering my people.

Yes, I'd expected orders to transfer the prisoner that Teal'c had rendered catatonic and his two partners in crime. Those were overdue, in fact. But these orders specifically mentioned our newest guests. And even expressly forbid anyone talking to them, they were to be held in seclusion to await transfer. This would have been the perfect time for Teal'c to have run roughshod over my wishes and their human rights.

Bad enough that I was ignoring the section about not observing the prisoners, there were four cameras in that holding cell and all four were running non-stop, the recordings delivered directly to me. Colonel O'Neill isn't the only rule-breaker on this base.

Those tapes would join the physical evidence of subversion inside the base by person or persons unknown. Somehow Major Cochran pulled himself away from MacKenzie long enough to inform me of why they had been where they were when the Colonel was attacked.

Siler himself went into the ducts and retrieved the hardware; and confirmed which parts of the base were under observation. As for where the recorder or the recorders where could not be determined. Apparently the last link had been wireless, cleverly so. The main escape up shaft had contained the transmitter; a receiver would have been able to pick up its signal at any point along the entire depth of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, giving me hundreds of suspects in a variety of security levels. It was enough that having concrete poured down the damned thing sounded prudent.

Whatever was going on involved Lt. Van Sickle and the team that departed to PBX 123. The whole living quarters and work areas for them had been observed. The lieutenant's quarters were specifically targeted. And there was evidence that Colonel O'Neill's office had been under observation.

Cochran is convinced that the spying became widespread after Jacob Carter healed Van Sickle at the colonel's request, but is insistent that O'Neill had been the initial target. Only he can't provide any reason for it. Hell, he can't even provide me a reason for his posting here. Document security, my ass.

**Major Sam Carter**

"Sam, calm down."

"I will not calm down. And don't talk to me like I'm an overly-emotional woman!"

I picked up and then slammed down a convenient notebook, proving the exact opposite. But I didn't care; I was beyond caring. For nearly twelve long hours I'd endured the public scrutiny of the Infirmary. Totally unable to unburden myself of what Colonel O'Neill had nearly accomplished.

"Eh..."

"Don't even answer that. Yes, I know I'm a woman and I'm emotional. But, Holy Hannah, Daniel, he didn't fight back. Not at all." The very idea was enough to gray out my vision, my heart felt made of stone. I'd nearly lost him it wailed.

"Not at all?"

_Oh, Daniel_._ Not at all._

"He lay there and closed his eyes. He resigned himself to what that animal tried to do. I... I didn't think he even tried to breathe once I eliminated the threat. Daniel. There has to be some way to fix him."

_I'm not sure I could live if there isn't._

Lt. Van Sickle

'I feel like I failed."_ No matter what he says._

"As does he," rumbled Teal'c.

We sat facing each other, surrounded by the warm glow of hundreds of flicking candles. Outside of their light the base, the world and life seemed to fall away. There was only the thundering crash of my own muddled feelings against the shore of my heart.

"He doubts himself," I asked, feeling small and very young. Too young to be asking that question, too young to believe anyone could have doubts. Too young to believe heroes had doubts.

"No one is without doubt," Teal'c answered, and then leaned over to tend a sputtering wick.

"Even you?"

"If I had not, I would never have left Apophis' side and O'Neill would be long dead."

"Have you failed?"

"My people are not free and my family lives in hiding. Is that not failure?" Gold flashed as he dipped his head, I could feel his sorrow.

Unable to answer, to confirm his sorrow I hung my head. But, yes, it was failure.

"To have failed does not made one a failure, nor does having doubt prevent decision. Properly used each can help achieve success." His dark eyes reflected the brightness of the candles and his earnestness. "You live and your task still lies before you. Cease to struggle or ignore doubt and you will fail. It is that simple."

"If only it were that simple." My sigh stirred the flames, making them dance.

"With the wisdom of years you will see that it is. They are O'Neill's strength, he sees the consequences if he ceases to struggle. But I fear that even he can see too clearly and unwisely chooses not to struggle, seeing it as the least costly of choices. No man is infallible. We all must live with failure. Do not mistake that you are its embodiment."

For long minutes I studied his face as he impassively gazed at me. What he said sounded like new age religion, or maybe I just wasn't ready to truly understand yet. But I would not forget his words. He had given me a new toy, one I could take out in the darkness and turn over and over in my hands; a puzzle that I would solve -- eventually.

"You must rest. Soon you will return to the task that O'Neill set you."

"I will not fail him," I felt my own flame deep inside, doubt lay there, but I feared it less. I had taken another step into manhood; I could feel it. It wasn't the banishment of anything, but the learning to live with it that made one a man.

"Did you teach him this?" Surely he must have know long before he met Teal'c, but...

"No, but it is never too late for me to do so."

**Major Sam Carter**

"Sir."

"Major, take a seat."

"May I stand, Sir?" This was going to be tough enough without letting it slip into a social occasion; the more discomfort the better; I dropped into parade rest.

"That serious?"

"I believe that it is."

"I'm listening."

"Sir. Colonel O'Neill's importance to the Program calls for extraordinary means to ensure his total and complete recovery. I propose to you that the Healing Device be requested from Area 51 and allow me to heal him."

My hands were so sweaty I found keeping them in the proper position difficult and that threatened to distract me. I needed to be totally here to accomplish this.

"I believe this possibility had been discussed and discarded."

"Yes, Sir. At the time I was reluctant to try."

"And now?"

"I've reconsidered."

"And Dr Fraiser and Colonel O'Neill?"

"Sir?"

"Have they reconsidered?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I wouldn't know." _Damn!_

"Major, this discussion is tabled until they do. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

_Plan B._

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Crap!

Get a grip O'Neill, show a little backbone.

My little pep talk doesn't help much, my knuckles I'm sure are white with the tight grip I have on the bedclothes. My emotions are flapping like jock straps on a clothesline in full view of all the neighbors. One moment I wanna cry, the next I wanna cry… _and_ throw something. Staying awake can be impossible, I nod off in the middle of a word, and when I'm awake too many people want a piece of me -- literally. Blood, temperature, sputum, urine, clean gown, change the bedding -- voyeurs all of 'em.

Keeping my head screwed on for the kid was exhausting me. And I must not have been too successful either, that look of disbelief was getting to be way too common. I'm ashamed to admit, I was glad when Warner kicked Eric out. And I'm not talking about that being a sign he was gonna be okay, but it was the end to keeping up the mask. The nurse disappeared too, and to celebrate I nodded off again. Sheez!

Eric seemed to take my explanation well; I just wish that it didn't sound like so much horse manure to me. Carter bought what I'm afraid may have actually been the truth. I didn't want to survive.

It took me a few minutes to realize that I was kneading my thigh -- hard. Doc sees that and she'll tie my hands to the bed rails. Or worse, she'll give Teal'c a ruler to whack me with. Speaking of?

He's been there since I woke up more than an hour ago. Ignoring him doesn't seem to faze him at all. Enough is enough.

"What!"

Teal'c doesn't do more than raise one eyebrow as he stood there; his arms crossed over his chest studied me.

"There are more than Lt.VanSickle who are confused. Was there a deeper motivation to your choice of strategy?"

How do you answer that? Was there? Was it me, or the drugs? Or, just circumstance? Do I know the answer?

All I could do was shrug.

"You are not sure?"

The big man softened his voice, a sure sign of his concern and I hated myself for it. This is what happens when I lose control, others get hurt. This man had survived by being able to read a snake's emotions though the filter of a host's body. He saw too clearly what I was thinking.

"A conscious choice."

Damn, he really doesn't leave much to the imagination, does he?

"Your guess is as good as mine," I admitted, and shrugged helplessly.

"My guess is that you are ill, and at the time it was an easy choice."

My fingers plucked at the blanket, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

"I am pleased that you failed. Are you not?"

Teal'c's eyes were full of concern; and I kicked myself for it; but his question got my attention. Was I upset that I hadn't succeeded? Even with the idea that I'd probably never walk properly, if at all, that I'd lose my place here at the Mountain. Had I wanted to truly end it all?

How did I feel when I made the decision? For once I tried to bring back the experience, something I always found distasteful. Doing that was far too easy and all the sharpness of the memory is there as if just happening. Staying long wasn't in the cards it was just too hard. But, I did find something, and it terrified me. I've found it before, right after Iraq and I always imagined that a host would feel the same when a snake took them.

I was there, but not there. Like being inside a glass container, feeling it all, seeing it all. Every thought right there, but the thoughts that I knew were mine never made it outside the container and from within, I watched. Things happened I knew I didn't want to happen, that I never agreed to. But I could only vaguely acknowledge my protest as the me that wasn't me did things that the me that was me would never have done.

That feeling was so strange and it made me shiver. I didn't like the feeling; the drugs had done that to me once, taking away my own ability to act and placing a phantom me in charge. Someone else wore my body and it frightened me. Scared me nearly witless, and I jumped when Teal'c touched me.

"O'Neill?"

"I'm very pleased," I told him, and knew it to be true.

**Major Sam Carter**

"No."

"But..."

"Don't 'But, Janet' me. What's changed? You wouldn't even consider this before."

"I know, bu... You didn't see him in there. He's given up."

"And you think that by doing this he'll give up 'giving up?'"

"He's not the type to go out with a whimper."

"Are you suggesting that he's suicidal?"

"Not actively."

"You do realize that if I suspect that he is I'd have to report that and he'd be out, legs or no legs."

"Yes, I do. And all you have is my opinion. I'm not trained to recognize that level of mental problem and you know it."

"Yes, I do."

"He valuable to the program," my voice reeked with petulance.

"And to you."

Leave it to Janet to see right to the truth. Yes I admit it. He's important. I want him. I don't care if his legs work or not. But he does. No legs, no Jack. He'd waste away. My desire for him could not stand against the kind of determination that man can bring to bear. I'm not sure that his need for me is greater than his need to be whole. I'm desperate and this is all I can come up with.

"Yes."

"And if you fail; or heaven forbid, actually hurt him?"

"I'd have tried; and I'm not so sure that I could make it any worse."

"You should understand, Sam. It's very possible to make his situation worse. And you underestimate Jack O'Neill. To lay back and waste away is not his style, far from it. He's not survived what he's survived for this long without having some kind of inner strength to get past obstacles bigger than him."

"I have to try."

"Oookay. Now you only have him to convince."

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

"Colonel."

"Carter."

No man was more afraid of a woman than I at this moment. Her body screamed anger at me and I had no idea just how I was going to explain what Teal'c and Eric now know. It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie either. Teal'c was probably the only person who would understand, but even he expressed his disapproval. Allowing myself to fade away wasn't in the cards if I knew what was good for me.

My eyes wandered along her 'at attention' body and I shocked myself at noticing the woman, the curves, the bumps in all the right places, how my breath quickened. Sternly I reminded myself that I had no right, and probably never would. Who would want a loser like me?

"Sir, I have a proposal."

Sir? Nervously, I shifted around in the bed and wondered what pound of flesh she'd demand of me. It wasn't like I didn't have plenty of flesh that was just lying around doing nothing. I reminded myself. With a gesture of consent, she began, her tone sadly business-like and unfriendly to my ear. No less than I deserved.

It was embarrassing to hear her explain how important I was, how much I was needed. What a laugh. If I died tomorrow the momentum of the program wouldn't even be slowed -- probably the opposite. Knowing Carter as well as I do I knew where she was headed and I knew she also knew my feelings about what she proposed. Had I fallen so far in her esteem that she expected me to consent to a piece of technology used to subjugate billons of humans? To be touched by that kind of pure evil made me shiver and I shifted again to disguise it.

"No."

"Sir?"

"Carter, I said no."

"Sir, may I be frank?"

"Go ahead, Carter. Frank, off the record, tell me like it is."

"Do I mean so little to you? Are those feelings you profess to have? Are they real? Was there actually anything left back in that room?"

Sucker punched -- this was so much more than a pound of flesh that couldn't feel or move. Thank God that Eric had been released to on-base quarters, that Teal'c had gone with him, that Fraiser had a full house. It would have been much simpler if I hadn't survived, but for some reason, even when I do lie down and quit something always derails the whole process. This could destroy Carter's career.

"This is so a conversation we should not be having, Carter."

"Are you actually Daniel's friend, do you give a damn about Teal'c ever getting the chance to free his people? And Eric, what happens to him? You were his example. Should he follow the one you are currently so bent on?

"Carter..."

"What are you afraid of? Living, loving -- feeling? Do we all mean so little to you?"

"Damnit, Carter. This isn't about you, or anyone else." I slapped a hand against my insensate leg, dug under it, pried it up and let it flop back down; ugly, brutal and way too real. "This, this is what it's about. This is an anchor that will drag me into oblivion, to a living death of an existence in some dingy medical storage facility. Do you really want me to drag you into that? Along with everyone else I care about? Better that..."

"Damn you, Sir. How dare you give up. That is the only way you'd wind up in a place like that, by giving up. Even if I can't heal you, only you can place yourself in that perception of Hell." She was suddenly across the room, looming over me. I braced for the blow; I had it coming. "This..." She caressed the same spot I'd abused; slowly, gently she pulled the sheet away. Angry red handprints glared up from my pale skin. "This isn't why." She bent and brushed her lips across my thigh, I knew the fire I felt was imagined. To have her touch me like this was appalling, like an angel touching the foulest of things; and none too gently I shoved her away to snatch the sheet back over that part of me that couldn't feel something I'd only dreamed of.

She staggered back, only just catching herself against the empty chair there. I stared at the hand I'd touched her with. Never had I ever raised a hand to anyone unless they were trying to kill me. The only times I ever touched Sara was with love and reverence, fondness and friendship. I knew where the line lay. I would never... but I just did. I was such a piece of shit.

Wide-eyed I sought out Carter -- Sam. I'd so wronged her. But the words wouldn't come; they were stuck in my throat. She backed away, her eyes never left me. Fear? Distrust? Disappointment? Could I trust what I saw, was it actually there to be seen? Or was I seeing what I expected, or feared. My hand rose, palm up, entreating. She took another step back. My face immediately burned with a violent flush and I snatched my hand down and hid it out of sight next to the hated leg. My eyes dropped to my useless limbs, so I only heard her swift steps to the door. There wasn't even the satisfaction of it slamming.

_What have I done?_

**Major Sam Carter**

_What have I done?_

Dry-eyed I sat rigid on my bed, safely hidden in my dark on-base quarters, running the whole disaster over and over again like a horror movie in my mind.

I knew. Holy Hannah! I knew just how private the man was, how honorable and how easily I could mortally wound him. Those eyes told it all. Across that curtain of energy that keep us parted, that nearly killed us both, they told of his complete and utter surrender to me -- a trust like no other; his life in my hands, if I could but find the words to force him to leave me. As if. For I knew deep down that if our roles were reversed, I would never leave. Better to die together quickly than one of us lingers in unrecoverable pain.

I knew how little he regarded himself and how high the pedestal he placed me on. To touch him like that was unforgivable. To force him to react like that. He'll never forgive himself.

My fault, all my fault.

**XXX**

My eyes snapped open to complete darkness; I was curled up and wedged into the corner at the head of my bunk. For a moment I was innocent of my recent crimes. But only for a moment, just long enough for the switch to flick, and the horror movie once again ground forward. Automatically I sucked in the sob that tried to escape at its resumption. In the second moment the reason for my awakening became clear, there was knocking at my quarters door.

With the unerring ease of familiarity I crossed the darkness lighter than my heart and wrenched open the door. And froze.

Jack!

Barefoot, and only in a smock that no way could be covering all it should was sat in a wheelchair. A smear of blood across one fabric covered thigh and another across his chest, trail markers of the dribble from where he had probably ripped out his IV, the hand of that arm showed red and he'd probably gotten it coated on the wheel on that side of the chair. Insanely I flicked my eyes behind him looking for red tread marks.

Relieved to find no evidence of his passage to my door I fixed on his beautiful eyes and found them as open as they had been when we decided to die together than exist apart. The raw anguish within them forced me back a step, a step I was going to soon regret.

That small, unintended action deepened the anguish, his raw pain evident at my attempt to avoid the hand that had reached entreatingly towards me. His interpretation of my move could only have been horrific. That insight into his thoughts paralyzed me, and his presence mesmerized me as slowly, on trembling arms, he forced his body upward. Through Herculean strength and his iron will he nearly stood, then lurched sideways thumping into the doorjamb, where he slowly slide to a precarious upright stance, overturning the chair simultaneously. His face reddened with effort and chest heaving, he gripped the wall to remain as tall as possible. Eyes closed, and most likely mortified at such an undignified performance.

If finding him on the other side of my door had been a shock, this was as if an entire galaxy had gone super-nova. He was on his knees and speaking, long past the initial curse of not having enough control of his legs to stay upright. He was telling me he was sorry that he hit me. That confused me, when had that occurred? Oh... oh!

This fiercely proud man was on his knees to me, asking me to forgive _him._ Oh, my God, I'd reduced him to this. All over a small shove, not even enough to show a mark.

This performance I would never have believed unless I'd seen it with my own eyes. The man could and regularly did the impossible, but even he had his limits. His fall to the floor inevitable, but unexpected, as he discovered that will alone was not enough to keep his position, one hand brushed my leg as he obscenely flopped before me. That one glimpse of panic on his face probably more painful for me to witness than his own experience; in a blink I was leaning over him, desperate to help, but fearful of making him feel far worse then he must now.

"Jack?"

Gently I turned him over, trying to give him as much dignity as the tiny scrap of a gown would allow. Those wounded eyes were still there, pouring out his soul, his hands gripped my upper arms, his fingers uncomfortably tight in his desperate mission.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

Only after those words were delivered and he knew I understood did he release me and slumped, offering no threat; he remained passive and unmoving, barely breathing. When I didn't respond, again I saw him give up, much as before, the light extinguished in those amber orbs and he drew the shutter of those outrageous long sensual lashes over them, I could almost feel the life leave his body.

"Don't. Please, Jack. Don't give up."

"I never gave up, you have to believe me. I did what I had to do to protect Eric. And... well, I may have felt like giving up, just a little bit. But I would never..."

My fingers pressed against his lips, anything to prevent the further baring of his soul, knowing the truth. He was a man, like any other, doubts and dashed hopes come with the territory. Something I didn't deserve to hear. Not at this moment, maybe... in the future, when we both are free to open that room. If we are both still of the same mind. I could never imagine not being that way, but time can have a strange effect on even the firmest of structures.

"There is nothing to forgive; I goaded you beyond your ability to withstand. I'm the one that should be asking your forgiveness."

"But..."

"I know, I know. Please let me do this for you, the healing -- for us."

His eyes answered, and I was thoroughly ashamed for the power I had over him. But I reminded myself that this was necessary. He needed challenges to thrive, and something told me that he had to be ready. He had a role yet to play that would determine far more fates than just my own. Silly, I know. But the feeling grew stronger every day. He had to be fit and ready for that day. My feelings and his were nothing before that future fate. I knew that my plans of seducing him into settling for a life in a wheelchair for my own gratification were selfish and cruel. I needed to close the door on that room, and lock it tight.

"I'm afraid that my stubborn pride took control and I can't explain this away. I'm so sorry, Sam. I should have... I don't know; thought of something more clever than this."

"There must be a way out of this without getting us into too much trouble?"_…something that would not destroy us both, if our feelings were exposed for the world to see._

He looked up from his position across my lap; a frown marred his drawn face. And I hated myself for putting him in this position, even for his own good. I knew his own career meant nothing to him, but mine he felt responsible for. He would always blame himself if mine suffered for this.

"You'll think of something, Carter, you always do."

His conviction, as steadfast as always, his use of 'Carter' pained some, but he was right. We needed to get back on a professional level and put away the personal baggage. Gently I slid out from under him, he groaned a bit in pain and perhaps he had grown to enjoy the closeness; I know I had.

"Carter?"

"I know someone." And I went in to phone the one person who could help us both out of the mess our feelings had gotten us into.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Jack 'Bleeding Heart' O'Neill's last act before being kicked out of the Air Force was to be found lying half-naked in the open doorway of his very female 2IC's on-base quarters. The woman in question later resigned her commission.

That imaginary banner headline was making me dizzy as it whirled in my head. I'd acted like some lovesick, hormone-driven, pimple-faced boy with his first crush, for me, a thoroughly new experience.

"O'Neill."

Teal'c appeared from nowhere and everywhere, like smoke he ghosted towards me.

"So you're who she called."

"Indeed."

Sam had not uttered a word after she pulled me back onto her lap. We'd been silent, each wrapped in our own foolish thoughts. Well, I think hers probably weren't, but I know mine were. Would a sarcophagus peel a few years off of my battered frame once we kicked the Goa'uld out of power? Being free to have Sam, but not able to actually do something about it was my most depressing reoccurring thought of late.

I'm afraid that we both just looked at Teal'c, like kids caught entwined on the front pouch swing by a parent. He raised an eyebrow and spoke.

"Tau'ri courtship rituals are confusing. Have you both come to a mutual agreement?"

"Yes," we both piped up in strangled voices, a quick glance showed her face was as red as mine felt.

"And?"

"Back to status quo," Carter firmly stated.

"Status quo," I squeaked out when Teal'c's pointed gaze fell on me. We had been caught out by a parent, a very large parent that could, if he wanted, bend us over his knee and spank us rosy for our stupidity; I almost wished he would.

"Only..." Carter began.

"I'm AWOL from the Infirmary and can't figure out how to get back without involving Carter."

"Why would involving MajorCarter in your return be detrimental?"

"Ah, look around. This would be why," I snapped in exasperation, my adrenaline high was starting to ebb and I knew my crash would be sudden and hard.

"Is not truth the best policy?"

Sam jumped to my rescue on that one.

"Yes, it is, but..."

"Then truth is what we will present." We must have really spoken our minds with our faces, for he continued. "Do you not trust me?" We nodded emphatically that we did.

"Then observe."

Watching him and his calm assurance reminded me that he had been a general of generals in his own right. Perhaps I should include him in more decisions in the future. He picked me up and deposited me in that damned wheelchair. Carter supplied the blanket he tucked around me and with her bringing up the rear he pushed me toward the nearest elevator.

Neither of us wanted to know what he planned, but he was on a fast and direct course to the Infirmary. When its doors were firmly in my sight I couldn't stand the not knowing any longer.

"Teal'c... what's the plan?"

"Does not victory go to the bold?"

"Ah, yes, it can."

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

No sooner than I was allowed back on duty then we had an escapee. A man who should not have been able to roll over on his own and he up and steals a wheelchair and disappears; and with my fingers actually touching the phone to report to the general, our missing colonel returns. Oh, yes, didn't I say who it was? Colonel O'Neill!

Bold as you please, pushed by Teal'c and trailed by Sam Carter. He comes in the door as if he owned the place. Well, I guess he does in a certain kind of way, but not while under my care.

"Colonel O'Neill."

"Doc?"

"What's this all about?"

I couldn't decide if I was more mad or worried. Worried was winning, he didn't look good.

"A matter of privacy," spoke Teal'c with an elaborate bow, no doubt he was a coconspirator.

"Major Carter..."

"Doc..."

"It was required DoctorFrasier. And I would not allow any harm to O'Neill."

If I could trust anyone it would be Teal'c, Sam second, and the colonel dead last. He sees skipping out of the Infirmary as a sport of some kind. One of these days, he'll find himself in serious trouble in his pursuit to outsmart me. Sigh; if he has to skip out, having company is much preferable then not I guess.

"Colonel, this sets a very bad example. You aren't being kept here for my enjoyment, but your safety. I want you to survive your stay at the Infirmary. I'm gratified that you saw fit to return, but your absence has made it necessary to conduct additional tests." His face visibly pales. "Sir, are you alright? Teal'c let's get him to his room and I'll give him a once over. Honestly I can't believe this is happening."

Teal'c swiftly accomplishes my request with a minimum of fuss. The colonel doesn't complain his face is drawn and a fine tremor courses along his arms; he's visibly stressed. Sam will get a talking to about this; the very idea of taking a seriously ill man out into the halls to convince him of the benefits of using alien technology to heal him is unthinkable.

Busy with settling my patient and checking him over I swear I hear Teal'c mutter something about 'only the bold' as he, the wheelchair and Sam take the opportunity to flee. Like that will save them from my wrath.

Don't they know? There's nowhere to hide from me.

**Major Sam Carter**

Janet informed me that the colonel had a condition to his submission to the Healing Device, that he be sedated during my attempt. He insisted. I think it had to do with the idea that it was possible that my lack of training could cause him pain. His only thought to protect me if I hurt him.

This is what comes from his good relationship with my father. They had talked long into the night on the last occasion of Lt. Van Sickle's healing. The colonel had been interested in the abilities and limitations of the Healing Device. Father and Selmac had obliged, relating much I'd been awake for. Detailing that the device wasn't the foolproof panacea it appeared. It could heal and it could destroy, sooth or hurt. A two-sided coin as any device could be.

Unbidden snippets of that late night session flashed through my mind as I slipped my fingers into the cool mental loops, gripped it and held the device over the helpless body of the man I knew I loved. The man I was desperate to heal, to save him from himself. He, whom I'd taken advantage of to get to this point.

Seeing the glow of the device wasn't important, I could feel its warmth. This was going to be so hard; this needed to prefect. And practice makes perfect.

First something small, those beautiful fingers so torn and bloodied by his ordeal, the ones I wanted to touch me every time I saw them slide along the length of his weapon. Carefully I thought about how they should appear and pushed that into the light of the device. Slowly, ever so slowly, the scratches faded, nails re-grew. So caught up in the beauty before me I let my concentration slip. He moaned, and began to writhe. I flung the device away horrified at what I'd just done.

I reached out to touch him, every so softly. He moaned in pain. And just like that I was scrambling on the floor searching for the device. I needed to fix this. I'd hurt him and I needed to fix it. Now.

My breath came in shaky pants as I resumed my position over him. Carefully, oh so very carefully, I created the proper frame of mind for the healing. And with infinitely care I pushed the image of those perfect figures out to the softly glowing device. Only this time it didn't feel the same. Cracking open an eye I looked down, careful to maintain my control.

Nothing was happening. Nothing bad. Nothing good. Nothing at all.

I could feel the device, but I couldn't push energy though it to the damage. How long I stood over Jack I really wasn't sure. But I was drenched in sweat, my head was splitting, the pain so intense I couldn't see. Then the fear set in. I knew I'd lost control and if I slipped up again there would be great damage.

Slowly and carefully I backed away and stumbled to the chair. I must have sat there for some time. Janet was suddenly crouched there before me; a small frown marred her face.

"I hurt him."

tbc...


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

**General George Hammond**

"Tok'ra IDC, Sir."

"Open the iris."

Finally, an answer to Dr. Jackson's call for Jacob's assistance; and about damn time too. Major Carter should be about to begin, and just how she convinced O'Neill to let her attempt to use the healing device is beyond me. Her skill may be enough to help a dying Goa'uld, but this is a colleague, a friend. Just too risky in my opinion, and it had been hers too. I should never have agreed to this.

Selmak has more experience with this kind of thing; he did a fine job of helping Lt. Van Sickle, even if he couldn't completely heal him. Who could have known the boy carried some kind of genetic fluke that prevented it. Just bad luck.

I'm getting tired of bad luck.

My sudden anger pushed me into aggressive strides across the room and back before I could force myself into the calm role I knew I needed to display. Inwardly I still seethed, my eyes fastened on the blue glow below.

Jacob's familiar figure stepped out of the clingy luminescence. Help had arrived and I tossed my false calmness to the winds, spun about and headed down to the gate room. Dignity be hanged, one greeted a friend face-to-face; especially when the creature that he carried could turn this whole mess around. Maybe it wasn't too late to stop the major.

Busy with my footing, the loud snap-pop of the disconnecting wormhole didn't startle me as much as the figure that stood next to Jacob Carter. Anise. She was the Tok'ra equivalent of a bad luck penny; an ill feeling crept over me. Why was she here?

"George," Jacob stepped between the woman and I, a smile fixed to his face. "Hope we didn't drop in at an inconvenient time." He added.

I found myself dumbly staring at his offered hand before I raised my eyes to his and his smile faltered. "George?" This was why he could always beat the pants off me at poker; he was one of the few who could read me like a book.

"Jacob. Let's go up to the conference room. I'll explain what you apparently don't know."

Damn. Once again the Tok'ra have proved unreliable. Sure Jacob's here, but I'd bet my retirement that he never received Dr Jackson's message. Deliberately delayed, lost or just plain too much paranoia at their end for information to get from one point to another, it's just too hard to say. I know what Jack would claim – deliberate.

Our one-way allies must want something, but to get that they'll have to do something for us for a change. Stiffly I led the way, Jacob followed me, Anise meekly trailed in his wake, though not nearly meek enough in my opinion. That woman was trouble.

XXX

"Sam!"

I had expected surprise, just not at the identity of the person who would wield the device. His daughter was the only person on the planet that could even consider attempting to use it. Who else would it be? When he swiftly stood, hot on the heels of his exclamation, did I realize he was staring past me.

Major Carter.

Jacob hustled toward her, and I found myself standing too; the major looked pale, her eyes glassy. Fear gnawed at me as my friend escorted her to an empty chair and sat her down. Her failure to report unnerved me further and I knew something had shocked her badly. The military has ways of dealing with this problem and I snapped at her in my best drill sergeant voice.

"Major, report!"

Jacob glared up at me from where he crouched next to the chair his daughter occupied, I jerked my head and glared back. He knew what I was doing and to his credit he stood and moved away. He may be her father, but I was something more. Someone she was trained to obey. Someone who could lead her out of the shocked state she was in.

"Major?"

"Si... sir?"

I recognized the emotion on her face – grief. Despite what horrors that flitted though my very vivid imagination I pressed her for a report. She was of sterner stuff then what appeared before me now; she could do this. I schooled my face into the hard mask of command. When she stiffened in response, I knew that I was getting through to the airman.

"Sir. I regret to inform you... that, I failed. I... I, hurt him, sir."

With each word the major steadied herself, before my very eyes she pulled herself out of whatever hole she'd fallen into. I kept up the pressure, a mercy to her, my command a rock to cling to.

"His status?"

"Stable. According to Dr Frazer, he's fine, except... for, for his hand."

"His hand?"

"I hurt him."

"Not on purpose I'm sure."

"I still hurt him, sir!"

Self-loathing was liberally coated on those words and self-hate colored her pale face with scarlet anger.

"Sammy?"

Jacob apparently could no longer stay out of the conversation, he should have. She turned to him and that anger at herself morphed into anger at him.

"Where were you?"

The words were cold, and her face hard, memories of those years when daughter and father refused to speak or acknowledge one another's existence surfaced in my memory. This was so like the time she blamed Jacob for her mother's death. It was a raw hatred, a living thing in its own right. Something I never wanted see re-ignited between them, least of all, be the cause of it.

"Major Carter, Jacob never received Dr Jackson's message. He only found out within the last ten minutes that we were looking for his help. It's only by chance that he's here at all."

Her eyes never once flicked away from her father's face. He at least had the good sense to wipe any emotion but love and bewilderment from his expression. She stared at him hard, very hard. Then a few muscles in her jaw twitched, her face softened. Jacob answered with a few twitches of his own around his eyes. A face ballet erupted between them. Questions and answers flew with abandon, all completely silent, but with echoing shouts within any who happened to witness the fast and furious communication between them. The sudden movement towards one another and the fierce grip they held each other with was shocking in its suddenness and gratifying emotionally to see that a good resolution had been arrived at. I could feel my blood pressure dropping at the sight.

"Sammy, Sammy," Jacob rasped out, tightening his grip convulsively with each utterance of his endearment of the major.

Her answer was a few soft sobs. Jacob forced her chin up with a nudge of his own, eye-to-eye he reassured her.

"I'm here now."

With a nod she stepped from his embrace and just like that Major Carter was all Air Force once again. Though I'd swear I heard her tears, not even one marred her solemn face.

"Sir, with your permission."

"By all means, lead the man to where he is most needed. Dismissed."

With a perfect salute and a grim expression, she about-faced to sweep out an arm. Her invitation clear, Jacob was to precede her. As they hurried away I almost missed Anise following. I thought to call out to her, but refrained. What could be the harm? Better she cool her heels in Fraiser's Infirmary than here.

Reluctantly I returned to my office and my job. I had a base to run even if I really wanted to be elsewhere, with my friend.

I risked another word to the God I swore never to bother again. Perhaps he'd help. Perhaps he had a soft spot for airmen who have seen too much to believe anymore. Maybe just this once, I could believe.

**Jacob Carter / Tok'ra Selmak**

_There shall be a reckoning for this._

'You can bet your sweet bippy there will be.'

_You must not let anger distract you from your first priority..._

'Sammy.'

I could feel her behind me, and thankfully that wall of pain and anger that had stood between us had not been re-erected over this, this...

_Calm..._

'Yes, Selmak.' Calm -- easy for him to say. His ghostly laughter floated across the back of my thoughts and I smiled. But for him, I would never have been reunited with my daughter, my son...

_With me?_

'Sometimes I think you are more woman than man. Or did you just inhabit one too long?' More laughter and images of a woman being loved and cherished flashed across my mind; like a memory, more than a memory, I could feel the excitement and the roughness of his skin again my own silkiness.

_There are benefits. Do you not agree?_

'Yes, I do.' The things that he has shown me gave the sex act new meaning. My only regret was that I could never share my new awareness with the one woman I really wished I could share it with. My wife. My lost love. That empty space that not even Selmak could fill.

_Sorrow not. You have her greatest gift._

My love's greatest gift to me, the other woman in my life, my daughter – Sammy, and by extension, Jack O'Neill; quite possibly the love of my daughter's life, and my friend.

_Our friend._

'Our friend,' I agreed and knew that Jack considered Selmak a friend. How he could do that and still have the opinion he did about the Tok'ra as a whole I couldn't imagine.

_Ah, but you can, just as I can._

'Yes,' we both knew the limitations of the Tok'ra. Too young to totally escape the genes they shared with the Goa'uld, and not old enough to ignore them. Selmak's sudden silence was more answer than I needed. He tended to withdraw totally when he brooded upon the too close similarities, and the dying hope that one of Egeria's children would yet prove to be a queen, and his one hope to widen the gap further, to shake the evil from their dusty homeless feet, and leave behind the legacy of enslavement.

Our sudden arrival outside the Infirmary gave me other thoughts to dwell upon while I held the door for Sammy and Anise to enter. Dr Fraiser appeared like magic, concern written across her face and I feared the worse, but it seemed the concern was for my daughter, and belatedly I remembered they were good friends. Living as a Tok'ra denied me much when it came to family. It was no wonder that they preferred hosts without living family; not only for the idea that the host would outlive family and friends, but to prevent the pain of long separation from loved ones. Selmak did everything possible to see that I was given the opportunity to visit as often as possible. But Selmak is the oldest and most revered of his race, there is so much he needs to do and my desires seem so petty in the face of that. It is our only argument and neither of us wins. Circumstance does.

"General Carter?" The petite doctor's attention was suddenly on me. "Would it be possible for you to see Colonel O'Neill?"

"Sam, if you'll wait here..." Some silent communication passed between them, Sammy paled, but rallied when Fraiser smiled reassuringly. "This way sir."

"Doctor, I'm retired. Jacob will do just fine."

"This way then."

Dr Fraiser is pretty smart; she kept Sammy away from the object of her perceived failure. As she shooed O'Neill's watchful nurse out of the room, Anise approached the unconscious man and picked up his hand.

"This is a serious injury."

The doctor's glare at her told me that Sammy had indeed 'hurt him.' When neither of us responded to her abrupt statement she glanced our way, her eyes narrowed. I could feel Selmak's touch as he adjusted a few bodily functions to keep me from exploding. Dr Fraiser had no such advantage, except her training. If looks could kill, Anise would be dead before Freya's body could hit the floor.

"_Anise."_

Just the fact that it was Selmak that spoke her name was enough. She carefully tucked the injured hand back against O'Neill's side. Selmak and I both were very satisfied when a pained moan from him visibly startled her; she hurriedly stepped away from him. My hand prevented a move towards him by the doctor.

"Doctor. We'll need a little privacy," I said and nodded toward the door. When she didn't move I added, "He'll be okay. I promise."

She flicked a meaningful glance at Anise, but nodded her head in agreement and left.

'Selmak?'

_There is little I cannot fix, Jacob; and that little that I cannot, Anise can._

'But...'

_Despite her demeanor, the only pain she is capably of giving Jack O'Neill would be of the beneficial variety._

Unlike Goa'uld hosts, Tok'ra hosts can tune into their body's senses at will. It was very much like sitting in a theater and watching a movie in sense-o-vision. I could feel Selmak fumble around for the healing device that we seldom did not carry. My hand brushed at Jack's arm feeling for temperature. Carefully I lifted it and saw its ruined stated, could hear the pain from his lips. This was the same type of deep burn that a hand device delivered; only a healing device could do it in the twinkling of an eye. Control of one's emotions was extremely important while using the device. It was bastardized from the hand device, originally meant as a means to prolong torture. Both descended from some mythical Ancient device, so far back in time that even the long genetic memory of the Goa'uld cannot recall it.

'Jack's not gonna be too happy that someone other than Sammy is doing this,' I stated.

_True, but waking him to try to convince him to allow this would be foolish of us. If not promptly attended, the hand would be beyond the capability of the hand device, and..._

'Yeah, he'd never sit still for a visit to the nearest sarcophagus.'

"_Forgive me Jack O'Neill. This is not what you agreed to."_

**Tok'ra Anise / Freya**

He turned to me as I lightly touched his shoulder, his arm already raised and the device softly glowing. This was something they could not do, must not do.

"Anise?"

"Permit me Selmak," My voice low, inviting; my hand glided down his arm as I step closer, to me it is no more than an unconscious effort at communication, others see it as sensual. It is but how my host's people interact, nothing more.

"I do not understand."

"I may be thoughtless and single-minded often in my dealings with the Tau'ri and my desire for this one in particular clouds my judgment even further. But I know that he would see what you are about to do as a betrayal he would never forgive. If he must hate someone, let it be me."

Slowly my hand covered his, the device winked out as I tugged both snugly below my breasts. Safe there until I could convince him of my offer.

"I do this because to allow another would be betrayal."

"Perhaps, but he will only see that you denied his wishes and reduced him to the same level the Goa'uld hold his brethren, no more than property that has no right to determine their own destiny – cattle."

"I cannot. I do this at the behest of my host. To him my honor is bound."

"Giving my argument even more support. Jacob is the father of the woman I know he cares for, far more than he will admit or is permitted to. I will never understand such a taboo as Samantha Carter and Jack O'Neill honor with the refusal to seek each other out. Would you cast a pall over any future they may have by involving her father and his trusted friend in this?"

My finger's gentle constant insistence won free the device from Selmak, in his eyes I can see the emotion that Jacob would be more likely to have than this elder of my race. Though O'Neill had rejected me, I will always hold him fondly in my heart. I would see him have some happiness, even if it meant that he grows to hate me for it. And where there is life, there is hope, I wishfully believed.

"You must not heal him completely, only..."

"I understand," my hip firm against his, I placed my fingertips against his lips, preventing him from speaking so that I could explain. "The smaller the healing the less he will have to hold against the Tok'ra. But I will never understand his refusal to be taken to a sarcophagus; he has used one before. Its negative effects are rarely lasting in them as they are in us, only continual and constant use twists them."

"He has an innate distrust of science I understand."

"Yes, such a contradiction. All of that hidden knowledge... He knows much and uses it to great advantage. He would be a worthy host, an honored addition to our cause. I wish..."

"Yes..."

"Go, you must not be seen anywhere near him until this is done." Reluctantly I pulled away from the heat that he exuded; Freya would stay, she so missed the intimacy of her people. An intimacy I have learned to cherish, probably more than I should.

Selmak took a moment's time to gaze upon the object of our conversation and concern, and then abruptly left. The next few hours between him and Jacob would be heated. Jacob would have healed O'Neill entirely, saving him the pain and suffering, little knowing that for him it was needed for his full recovery. Though lacking in social skills, as the Tau'ri would recognize, I did understand the motivations behind their actions better than even they dreamed. I am a scientist after all, just not a very good friend – nor human.

Brazenly I laid hands upon my heart's desire, one that would never be fulfilled and took what I wished: the feel of his skin, the sight of his strong face and the taste of his exhalations. My heart quickened. I had no right and he had no desire, I am such a base creature to take from the helpless. But I was here to give. Yes, an unwanted gift and against his will, but he was needed.

His very existence excited many. The Asgard. The Nox. The Tollan, we and... the Goa'uld. He was the catalyst that our war of thousands of years had never had. O'Neill bound all to a single purpose, willingly and unwillingly. My wants and desire are as nothing in the face of the survival of a galaxy, if not a universe.

My lips clung to his as I pulled away from the only kiss I would ever experience with him. Not stolen, but taken in payment.

Raising my arms, one hand supporting the other that held the healing device, I positioned myself over his prone body and concentrated. The righting of the maimed hand took but seconds, and then there was the crude cast over the opposite arm between elbow and wrist, hiding a simple break. Each injury was corrected with a touch, but the last... My eyes closed and perspiration soon sheen-ed my skin, this would be the hardest healing I, or perhaps any, had ever preformed.

One proficient with the device could see into the body and evaluate the damage before encouraging the cells to rebuild the damaged areas. My level of skill is rare and took the span of three of my host's lives in its accomplishment, three long-lived hosts. Still this is not easy; more energy is expanded to see, than to heal.

Hopeless that it is, this will be a token of my deep feelings for this man. Never would he see me other than as kin to his hated enemy, but I would make this commitment. Silently I invoked the names of those long-lost hosts whose sacrifice allowed me this skill. Long agonizing minutes were spent in tracing circulation and nerve pathways, evaluating the scar tissue and the likelihood of more.

Two small adjustments would allow O'Neill to recover fully. Not quickly, not painlessly, but through hard work he would recover to resume his place. One small blood vessel choked by scar tissue and one small, but vital nerve bundle pressured by the same tissue. These two defects prevented him full and unencumbered use of his legs.

My focus needed to be sharp and discriminating; but my endurance had been nearly spent in the seeking. The healing needed precision. Only by the force of two wills – united as one – will I able to hold the healing beam on target. At times like this I rely on Freya, she held her own body upright and helped me to steady fatigue-shaky arms. How I wished O'Neill could experience this, he would then know I am not Goa'uld. Perhaps...

_Concentrate or all will be lost,_ wisely commanded my host.

A fleeting touch to strengthen the vessel wall and all was done, as was the last of my strength; even Freya could not stop my slide to the floor completely. For an eternity we both clung to the side of the bed. We must not collapse; to be found helpless here would tell all. This must be concealed from O'Neill. He should only discover our deception when he is stronger, more able to vent his anger.

Thoughts of O'Neill's well being gave us the strength to stand and stagger from the room. Selmak was there, waiting, and with his help we found a private place in this underground warren the Tau'ri preferred. Selmak would watch over us.

I may never have O'Neill, but I could preserve him and see that he has happiness. Perhaps that will be enough?

_I am with you. You are loved._

'Yes, but...'

_Rest, Anise, my love. Even the worst of enemies can, over time, become the best of lovers._

'To have you... so lucky...'

**Jacob Carter / Tok'ra Selmak**

For two long days this base had been holding its collective breath, hushed and expectant, each individual waiting for one person to awaken. Anise assured me that Jack would recover fully, that any problems that might remain he would be able to overcome if he used that dogged determination he was so famous for.

I regret not being part of the hush, but during those long hours I've watched over a near comatose Anise and tired to talk sense into Sammy. I suspect that only talking to Jack will derail her guilt. She feels as if she had coerced him into something that he'd not wanted to do, something very much against his grain. It frightened her that she could take such a strong, private and stubborn man and bend him to what she saw as her selfish will. And she's even more frightened of just what he'll think about what she did or didn't do in this little Tok'ra rescue mission.

Sigh.

And I'm afraid too of what Jack will say, do, think and yell about what was done to him. I couldn't even find the words to tell Sammy about what occurred, that I didn't do as I'd promised. Jack's righteous anger will be the least of my worries. I promised Sammy that 'I' would help. And I didn't.

_I cannot believe that O'Neill will not realize that only his well being was the sole object of motivation for all involved._

'I'm not so sure about that. Jack O'Neill has some pretty lofty ideals and plenty of experience to know that others are not motivated by them."

_Is he so jaded that he cannot believe even those he trusts?_

'That is not the term I would use, Selmak. Yes, he's world-weary, but he's also seen the scum of the earth do selfless acts on behalf of others. That doesn't mean he expects that to happen, he knows most people have only their own self-interest at heart.'

_A hopeful cynic?_

'For want of a better definition... yes.'

Our discussion was interrupted by Anise, haggard, but mobile. As if we were not even present she approached Jack O'Neill who has lain as if dead for two days since her healing; alarming Dr Fraiser, her staff and I, until Selmak enlightened us all with Anise's habit of instilling an enforced sleep in all whom she heals, especially after such a delicate healing as this one. More to allow the body to harden the area healed – like Jell-O sets as it cools.

Selmak's explanation did little to reassure the medical personnel, nor anyone else. Even I was troubled. Troubled enough for Selmak to repeatedly explain the situation and give me countless examples of Anise's successes. I found it hard to keep one thought from him: What of her failures? That led to examples of those also. I now know more about her experiences as a healer than I had ever wanted to know.

The violent sound of flesh striking flesh exploded me upright, and without conscious thought my hand caught Anise's wrist, upraised to strike at Jack again. So fast was my reaction that Selmak could do nothing to prevent me from wrenching her around.

"He must awaken," she stated; as in stereo, _He must be awakened, _echoed within my skull.

_Jacob, she must rouse him. _"I must awaken him."

"Hey, one at a time here," using more volume than I'd wanted as I tugged Anise closer, away from my helpless friend. Not at all sure just what was going on. Selmak was nothing more than background noise as my attention was focused on this unexpected threat.

"What? This is too much like something off of Star Trek. You have to hit him to wake him up? I just don't believe this!" Somehow I'd moved her further away and turned her around, we'd completely exchanged positions.

Anise was calm, too calm for what she had just done. Too calm for what I'd just done. Confusion was running high, and then I noticed a flicker of her eyes to the bed behind me. With a shove I released my hold on Anise and wrenched around to see what had caused her to break eye contact.

Jack was groggily probing at his reddened cheek; it took a few beats for him to notice us.

"What happening? Why does my face hurt?" Jack squinted up; blinked and you could see the moment he figured out who we were. "Jacob..."

"I have healed you Jack O'Neill," firmly stated Anise, she moved past me as I was too stunned to move, to prevent, to protect, or to soften what might came next.

Jack gingerly rubbed his face and exclaimed, "What?"

"I have healed you Jack O'Neill, Major Carter was unable to do so, and since I was available, I did it."

Jack looked stunned; I knew I was stunned at her bluntness.

"Not..."

"No, I remedied _her_ mistake and your injury."

"Without my consent?" Jack's voice had that quality that every airman could recognize, that dangerous tone that proclaimed extreme caution.

"Yes," she spoke as if he were an especially dense child. "As for the bruise forming on your face, I struck you."

"You! What the Hell for?"

"To awaken you. Your laziness will prevent your recovery, a recovery that I worked very hard to accomplish for you."

If Anise's intent was to anger Jack, she succeeded in spades. He flung back the bedclothes that covered him, his feet hit the floor and he launched upwards just as I lunged for him. Together we teetered, not sure if one or both of us would fall.

For a man weakened by illness his grip was painful, his hands dug into my forearms, his eyes fastened to his bare feet. My eyes too were drawn there and I saw his toes wiggle stiffly. He didn't remain upright for long, I could feel him slipping, his knees began to bend and I guided him back to sit on the edge of his sick bed, his stunned gaze met mine.

"All Tau'ri are alike, rude and arrogant. Have you no words of thanks for the gift I have given you?"

I heard him mutter "Bitch!" Too much of a gentleman to say it loud enough for her to hear, but too much of a man to not think it, then he shoved me away.

"And you. Why didn't you stop her," shaking, eyes cold hard, Jack gripped the side cabinet, desperate to stay sitting. He was fighting a losing battle and I moved toward him. "Stay back," he commanded and I obeyed, his command presence that good. Even ex-generals jumped at his bark.

"He had no say in what was decided by the leadership of the Tok'ra. He is a host," Anise's words dripped disdainful venom. She sounded more Goa'uld than Tok'ra and I eyed her distrustfully, wondering just whose side she was on.

"Yeah, nasty little name that is. Isn't it?" Jack barked out with a venom all his own.

"What is going on here?" Dr Fraiser stood in the doorway, shock replaced the anger she had carried on it.

"None of your damned business," shouted O'Neill, his eyes never leaving Anise's haughty gaze. I'm not sure if he even realized who had stepped into the room and from the doctor's fast exit he wouldn't be finding out either.

"Jack..."

"Shut up!" Only he and Anise seemed to exist. Dr Fraiser slipped back into the room, hugging the wall as she made an indirect beeline for O'Neill.

"The Tok'ra deem it necessary to have you fully functioning O'Neill. Your permission was not required," Anise's words sharp even to my ears. Fraiser flashed her a sharp look before she slipped behind me and I slid closer to Jack who sputtered out an attempt to reply.

"Not... Who the Hell..."

"I am a member of a superior race that is who I am and you should be most grateful for what we have done," she swayed forward, all sexual aggression – regal.

Convulsively Jack pushed up from his sudden slump, never had I ever seen him this incensed. So angry he couldn't even speak. Fraiser bumped into me a couple of times. And the IV, that snaked to Jack's shaking vein-popped arm, which held him upright, quivered unnoticed. He only saw Anise.

'_She distracts him.'_

I could have kicked myself. That was exactly what she was doing, she had given Doctor Fraiser the opening to sedate Jack and the hand in the small of my back proved that revelation true. My forced stagger had me moving to catch Jack as he began to slide off the edge of the bed, a slurred, "What," forced from his throat.

Anise helped me support his sudden dead weight, words spilled from her.

"Stubborn man. You are precious to too many to allow such a small concession as free will if it means you are unable to carry the lance of freedom you willingly picked up. Your permission was a foregone conclusion. Hear me O'Neill, I am the only one you can blame." To my ears her words sounded like begging.

"Snake's a snake..." Jack's eyes rolled, and he blinked his eyelids slowly a few times and then they failed to rise again.

**Dr Janet Fraiser **

"Giving him the drug will slow his recovery and probably get him rotated off of active duty."

"But it will allow him to start to deal with his situation, and being prescribed for the short term doesn't necessarily create the stigma you imply," huffed Dr MacKenzie from his Infirmary bed. A bed he hoped to vacate the next day, he was entirely too close to the action here.

"And just how many officers in front line units remain in said units after having this show up in their records?

"Ah, ah..."

"Zero, isn't it?"

"I'm quite sure that it isn't zero."

"Then close enough that zero will do, surely you can suggest something besides drugs. Drugs is what got him into this position."

The man had the decency to look chastised, and surprisingly thoughtful.

"All right. If anti-depressants are out?" My glare answered that nicely. "There is something we could try..."

"I'm all ears."

**Capt. Isiah Cochran**

My conversation with General Hammond had been, well... difficult. He had lots to say, the man's no one's patsy, nor is he dimwitted. Not slow at all. Wish I coulda been chatty back, but Hammond knows why I can't and he's not telling. Gotta admire the man for that and the very fact he told me, a _lowly_ captain in charge of quote-unquote document security, the details of a top secret transfer of prisoners tells me he suspects I'm not who I say I am. The man's no fool.

Why else would he reveal those very, very illegal surveillance tapes of the prisoners? And he never even blinked when I suggested that if he were that paranoid, why not take it all the way – DNA and blood samples. I'd love to know just how he's gonna do that. And he will, I have no doubt of that. He protects his people, just like Jack.

Jack O'Neill is the apple of his eye. About time Jack caught a break. He's getting the kind of support someone like him needs, deserves.

Only who protects our dashing colonel – friends, family, superiors, the Air Force, or maybe the President of these United States of America? Yeah. Who?

"Hey! Are you ready yet?"

"Captain, do I need to remind you of just to whom you speak?"

"Yeah, I know; captain to your colonel. Come on, Mac. Shake a leg. I know both of them still work. Don't have all day."

The mutterings from behind the bed curtain weren't necessarily audible, but I had an idea of what he was saying. Had to grin at some of the new words he musta been making use of.

MacKenzie is an okay guy, despite what Jack has to say about it. Mac's compassionate when he's not being arrogant, not too shabby. And I can understand that arrogance; he grew up with a mom who treated him like a servant, who lived beyond her means. Self-preservation forced him to carry that mask.

He's smart, very smart, but that mom and her ways denied him the opportunity to learn how to deal with other human beings, fenced him off from others; and his weird choice of vocation – then again, maybe its not. He's curious, bet he thought that becoming psychiatrist would give him a clue about people. I'm not saying he's totally clueless, just not really good at being with people – too clinical, too naive.

"Maaaaaccc..."

"I'll be ready when I'm ready, Captain."

That had me chuckling, that arrogance again. Though I must admit he is my _superior_ officer. Who'd a thunk?

And he's my friend. I have no idea how that happened. Especially after reading what Jack had to say about him, I was pretty set that I'd hate him. Would want to shoot him just as much as Jack, but I should have known better, Jack can run black-and-white when it comes to things like loyally, honor, leaving people behind... MacKenzie's lucky he didn't shoot him.

Mr. High-and-Mighty Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill needs to learn a few things still. I would have thought this last, and very final, encounter with Frank Cromwell might have given him a clue, but I guess not. Don't get me wrong. Jack is... well, my hero. I was just the neighborhood kid next door, only there half the year because of how the judge handled my folk's divorce. But, he and Frank treated me like one of the family. I may have been living with my dad, but he was hardly ever home, these guys were my family. I'm grateful that someone wanted me for those six months out of the year. I coulda wound up as part of the criminal element otherwise – almost did.

Jack and Frank were like brothers. Then Iraq happened. It took me a long time to decide how I felt; I was pissed at each of them at different times for changing my world like they did. They were both right and both wrong. And I found Jack's reaction understandable to a point. But could never accept that he could totally shut Frank out of the rest of his life. This is a man who had always shown a deep ability to forgive, or at least accept other's actions in the light of circumstance.

Frank was desperate to reconcile with Jack, but not as desperate as Jack was to totally forget what had happened to him in Iraq and that included the person he believed started that tragic string of events. The resumption of my half a year of loneliness was part of the fallout of the aftermath of an unavoidable mistake. If only...

"I thought we were in a hurry."

"You took so long I fell asleep. So sue me!"

And with that I carefully took his uninjured arm and steered him out of the Infirmary and towards his on-base quarters. He looked pale, and from the soft rattle of the bottle in his clenched hand, he was in pain and contemplating when he could take his next pain med. I intended to get him bedded down as soon as possible and then pop topside to watch the prisoners being transferred out.

We entered the elevator and Mac beat me to the buttons, with a spread of my fingers and a slight bow I backed off and allowed him the honor. MacKenzie hit the button for the E-Ticket ride to the surface and then turned to see my quizzical look.

"In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides I'll derive a great deal of satisfaction from watching them all trudge by in chains." he stated; and his smug look made him look infinitely better. I grinned like an idiot. Things were looking up.

"You feel the need for revenge," and I grinned broader, my colonel just admitted to a base feeling. Half assed-ly, but he did. He blustered and then proceeded to ignore me on the first leg of the ride up.

It wasn't until we were both alone in the elevator for the second leg that I caught him studying me.

"What!"

He looked harder; it was starting to irritate me; made me shuffle my feet like a guilty kid.

"How's the head?" Mac softly responded, with a vague wave of fingers towards his own head. Like I didn't know what the word meant. And if I hadn't, waving at his own head would have totally confused me. Like his question and that worried look he'd been wearing for a few days didn't already do that. I knew what his problem was.

"I'm fine." And to prove it I rapped my knuckles sharply against the side of my head, making him wince. "Like steel plate; bed pan proof."

"I... I..."

"Don't worry about it Mac, it was the thought that counted." He immediately began to study the floor. "This just means that I'll have to take you under my wing and do a little physical training. A little hand-to-hand, get you combat ready."

"Heaven forbid!"

If glares coulda killed his would have and I laughed out loud. He soon joined me. Once we had almost composed ourselves again, he timidly punched me in the arm. That got him an exaggerated, mouthed: Ouch!

Mac's first physical expression of friendship made me proud as a papa. I threw an arm across his shoulder and hung on. The man really needed a friend and he'd found one in me. I'm a sucker for a kicked pup and he was just that.

As soon as the car stopped at our destination I dropped my arm and took a half step away, he looked a little hurt at my move. But I smiled just as the door opened; he got so beautifully confused for two heartbeats and then smiled in return. The area around the elevators was crowded with personnel. He saw what I had done as a sign of mutual like, or respect. I didn't want to totally embarrass him in public – no, that I had to plan in great detail.

With an evil grin I plunged out of the car and into the crowd.

"Okay, outta the way. Injured hero here. Give us some room. No autographs. Keep your distance."

Mac's stuttering steps echoed behind me. Good, he was following. I really wanted to glance back, but I was too busy looking over the crowd and found just who I'd hoped would be there.

"CaptainCochran, ColonelMacKenzie"

"Teal'c, how's it hanging?" And give a little bow in return to his nod.

"Exceeding well," he answered without missing a beat. First time I'd asked that I got a precise measurement. Since then I've been very, _very_ respectful.

Boy, I bet ol' Jack really loved to converse with this guy.

MacKenzie made it a point to keep me between him and the big Jaffa – my colonel the coward. Ah! And just as quickly I changed that thought, he had it in him to be more than a coward. His defense of Dr Jackson in that warehouse was proof of that; even his attempt to save my own ass was at odds with his attempt to avoid the big Jaffa. Maybe, he's not so dumb, nor so cowardly. Maybe he just picks his risks.

Teal'c was the talk of the base. How what he'd done to get confessions outta these two yahoos we came to wish a bon voyage to were legend. MacKenzie would have access to some of what had happened; maybe he even saw the video of the performance. Good enough reason to keep his distance as the Jaffa would undoubtedly know of O'Neill's extreme dislike of the psychiatrist.

As if it were announced, heads turned to the big freight elevator, its doors opened silently and a crowd of SFs, guns at the ready stood like a shield behind them. No one moved and no one breathed. As one the mass of well wishers moved back and away, opening up a clear path to the outer doors where a non-descript heavy-duty van idled with its own crowd of less obvious guards, probably just as well, if not better armed.

Teal'c moved forward to stand almost dead center of the now open space, the well wishers moved further back; a whiff of fear rode the artificial air currents as the crowd hugged the walls. Grabbing Mac by the elbow I pushed my way free to stand behind the big Jaffa. Mac pulled frantically away, but my grip was firm. He quit real quick once he noticed how out in the open we three were, I could feel him go still, and almost hear the sweat pop out on him. Bold moves were rough on him – poor guy.

In the elevator the SFs seemed satisfied, and like the brave men they must have been, they bore down on our position.

Means was trussed up in enough chains that if someone pushed him off a short pier he'd not need cement overshoes. I grinned wholehearted at that picture while I watched the man struggle to walk. I was certain that the SFs had short-chained him, and smirked at that idea.

A litter carried by two Teal'c-sized men, each with a P-90 dangling across their chests followed, their eyes everywhere. None of the SFs, members of the SGC, were taking any chances with these scum.

"That's Ma... Oof!"

An elbow to the stomach stopped Mac from blathering out what only he and I knew. That Mr. A. Whole was Manny Devine, hired and totally clueless muscle, only good for roughing up kids. Having almost been narrowly sucked into that kind of criminal family, I had a certain amount of charity for the man. Usually did when they cried on my shoulder. If only he'd met someone like Jack O'Neill early in his life.

What Manny had done I didn't like, but I understood why he did it. I understood who he was and where he was coming from. He would have been a likable guy given half a chance, I could still see the happy kid, the good-natured person he was, darkly though the lens of his struggle to survive. It's said that survival is better than death. But one has to wonder if giving up who you are is really worth the ability to draw breath.

The SFs where having a problem with Means, the closer he got to our little group the smaller his steps were. When he all but stopped his guard not so gently shoved him forward. Means' eyes were glued to Teal'c who stood at ease with the most unusual expression I'd ever seen on a human. And boy, I've seen more than I care to admit. That expression belonged on a shark, one about to snap up breakfast – fast and easy. That's something you don't see on the Animal Channel, only up-close and personal gets you that kind of view.

I have to admit the man is intimidating. He didn't move, just that expression that followed Means and his entourage. The prisoner tried his darnedest to distance himself from the big Jaffa, but those SFs just kept him on a straight and narrow path that put him within arm's length.

Means cringed in on himself, as if expecting a blow.

Manny and his stretcher followed. No cringing here, he was totally oblivious. I was glad about that. Poor Manny would have died from fright for sure. Since that first meeting I'd wondered if there was anything I could do to pry him from the life he lived, ever reminding myself that very few ever escaped it after living in it for long – too bad.

My eyes followed up the parade back to Means and I watched him relax just a tiny bit as he finally made it past Teal'c.

Teal'c noisily fell in at the rear of the parade and had me grinning. Means' head snapped around, his gait increased and he almost tripped. His SF had to grab an elbow to prevent it. I followed Teal'c's lead and heard Mac do the same. Means was gonna have self-inflicted whiplash trying to keep Teal'c in view and going where directed. I had no pity for him; unlike Manny he had no excuse.

**Dr MacKenzie**

Cochran grinned like the fool he is all the time the little party of prisoners and guards marched across the cavernous space to the door and the waiting van beyond. Every sound was like a gunshot in the artificial and expectant silence along the way. I do believe they were all waiting for Teal'c to do something. I could feel the wave of disappointment when nothing happened, all he did was step up to the rear of the column and calmly follow.

I had to scramble when Cochran copied that action, and I became the tail on a slow moving whip.

Sticking to Cochran's rear I wound up standing to one side as the head of the SF detail and Teal'c scrutinized the credentials of the nondescript hired guards that came with the van. Once they were satisfied Means and Manny were loaded into the van, Teal'c insured that both prisoners where manacled to the sturdy holding rings that studded the rubber-matted floor. Means face was white as chalk and he never moved while Teal'c did this checked his bonds. The new guards belted down the stretcher, and fastened a seat-belt looking restraint across Means' lap, who by this time looked to have gone almost as catatonic as Manny appeared.

One of the two rent-a-guards stayed in the back, locked behind armored doors. The other climbed inside the front, separated by a heavy grill from the back; similar grillwork extended around the side windows and windshield. Reminding me of those vehicles commonly seen in movies about some dire lawless futures, overkill in my opinion, the movies and this van. What did they expect? A rocket attack?

There were a lot of people in the parking lot around the van, more than had been there to see them exit the elevator. Some of the SFs had to open up a corridor in the throng for the van. When the way was clear the van sped off, faster than the SFs liked, more than one of them were on talkies to the front gate no doubt.

Cochran sauntered over and stood close by, not saying a thing, but with a thoughtful expression on his face I wondered about. The bad guys were gone, the plot stopped and their targets were safe – relatively.

With this crisis over I could return my attention to getting the man the help I was pretty sure he needed. Just because everything had worked out well, didn't mean he wasn't in need of counseling or rest. Something that had been tickling the back of my mind reared up and dampened my day. I'm not one to be depressed, first I don't have time for it and second I'm not disposed of it. But men like O'Neill and Cochran usually were, no matter how little time they have, they always have time to question their every decision.

After I get Cochran healthy, what happens? Sigh. He'll leave.

My surprised imaginations of how desolate my life would be if Cochran walked out of it was shattered when the third rude shrill beep of a talkie sounded, then patriotic tunes sprinkled with TV Sci-Fi tunes blaring from cells began. All of them belonged to SFs; the noisy summons was soon drowned out by shouts and exclamations. A general movement towards vehicles began.

What was going on?

Cochran hooked me by an arm and pulled me to into the path of a moving vehicle. Oh, no!

The man was still cracked. Pushing him away, or pulling away was futile. He was just too strong. I was going to die.

"Hey, Mac. Watch where you're going," shouted my manic friend. Like I had any power over where I was going.

We stood there as a vehicle bore down on us; there was no way it could stop. I couldn't even get my eyes closed fast enough to avoid seeing myself die.

Ooooh, nooooo!

tbc...


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

Beep... Beep.. Beep. Beep BEEP BEEPBEEP

Crap!

Beep. Beep. Beep..

Think of something else, something calming. No, don't look at the toes.

BEEP BEEPBEEP

Crap!

Beep. Beep. Beep..

Sigh. Thinking of nothing here. Nothing.

Beep. Beep.. Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...

It's like being connected to a lie detector. Only this seems to be a mad-o-meter. I'd been used and abused. I'm entitled to being pissed off. I'd sat through more lectures than I had since that time I scared Sister Angelina. Then, as now, I sat through it all, not looking at anyone, not saying a thing. Damn, I'm too old to act eight. I'm too old to be treated like I'm eight. Let's face it; I'll always be eight – from time to time. Sigh.

So here I sit, as ordered. Ordered mind you, to think about everything I've been told. It's so humiliating to have your CO, a major-general no less, order you to wise up, and fast. Maybe that's what I needed. A good old-fashion kick in the ass. Hammond used heavy boots to do that.

If I were in his boots, I'd probably use heavier ones. My ass is as hard as my head.

The fact that he told me he's cutting me some slack because I'm still _chemically compromised_ was scary. It's like being told you're not in your right mind. That is how Fraiser described it. I'll have to take their word for it. Cause – dammit – I'm missing time in the ol' fron. Some of the stuff they said happened I don't remember at all.

Crap!

Now why couldn't I conveniently, and oh so vividly, not remember making a fool of myself in front of Carter?

Double-crap!

What am I gonna say to her?

What am I gonna say to Jacob?

How am I gonna look at myself in the mirror if I don't find something to say?

**Dr MacKenzie**

The squeal of rubber tires sliding across asphalt and the scream of overstressed brakes set my teeth on edge; nothing like dying in such an irrigating way.

Only the impact never came.

The screaming and squealing continued, only in my head and it sounded liked, 'I'm alive!' repeatedly. Tearing myself away the delight that my heart still beat, though rather erratically, I found myself staring at two grinning SFs smirked at me from behind the glass of a small jeep used to do patrol duty on the small dirt roads of the Mountain. Cochran pushed me into the back where I soon found myself hanging on for dear life as he hopped a few times, keeping up with the now moving jeep, to suddenly leap in next to me. He looked to be having entirely too much fun to me. And that irritating toothy grin of his was proof of that statement.

"What's going on?" I shouted into the noise of the stampeding vehicles.

"The main gate reported an explosion below them," Cochran shouted into my ear.

"The van!" I knew it had to be, nothing else had moved in or out that I had seen. There was a chance that something coming in had missed a curve...

"Don't know."

Our driver was very young and drove like Mario Andretti desperate for a win at the Indianapolis 500. He was able to cut off most of the pack, placing us third in the jam of transports headed down the mountain. Teal'c was in a Hummer that was in the lead. Glancing back along the column I could see each shotgun position was shouting into talkies or cells, just as ours was.

"Arranging to have the gate open, we won't slow down," Cochran informed me as he pulled me back after a chuckhole had bounced me loose, I grimaced in pain eliciting a concerned look from him. I grinned at him in reassurance. He showed some teeth in reply, and then partially stood up to peer ahead before leaning over the man with the talkie. An unheard conversation passed between them. My heart was hammering in my ears, and my stomach was crawling up my throat. This was just too much excitement, and I hugged my arm wishing I had taken that painkiller early.

Cochran flung himself backwards just as we blasted past the main gate, headed at full speed it seemed for the first hairpin. The jeep leaned alarmingly, and skewed as the tires slid in some gravel on the asphalt. But the youth driving had it under control. Wish I could have said the same. My heart had joined my stomach in my throat.

A worried face blotted out the world.

"You okay there, Mac?"

Afraid to open my mouth, and thus lose a vital organ I nodded. Cochran didn't look convinced. I didn't blame him. I wasn't either.

A shout from our man riding shotgun twisted him away from me. Smoke billowed up from the treetops, too much smoke I thought. We slid though another hairpin, and along the short straight stretch of road a fire could be seen at the next turn. The jeep picked up an alarming amount of speed before we were braking to avoid the two hummers now sliding in what I hoped was a controlled sideways skid to lurch to a stop, canted over as one side of each vehicle had dropped into the ditch below the steep upslope of the mountain. Our jeep jarred sharply, being lighter, it had actually used the second hummer as a deterrent to more forward motion. Cochran had somehow jammed himself between the back of the front seats and me. I heard him grunt as I slammed forward into him, and I saw stars as that jarred my arm.

Finding myself being eyed critically by Cochran and the up to now unseen shot gun, I grunted and held out an arm as I attempted to lift a foot, suddenly lead, over the edge of the jeep to get to the ground. With their help I succeeded. Cochran acted as if he were a yo-yo at the end of its string and about to rebound towards the source of the smoke.

The van could barely be seen for the fire that covered it and had climbed link a single candle flame up the tree it had hit. Vehicles were switched off. The din diminished to be exchanged for something far more emotional. It took me a beat or two to figure out what I was hearing over the roar of the fire. Just for a fleeting second I felt surprised that its roar wasn't the dominant sound, and then horror. No, the fire wasn't the loudest sound here, but some far worse was.

'Oh, God!'

Screams. There were screams. Shrill, like a human should not be capable of. A pop cut one out of the chorus.

Churning forward, I met resistance to the string that now was mine.

Cochran's anguished face above that resistance wasn't going to stop me, I don't know how, but I pushed him away. Then I met the immovable object – Teal'c.

Still I struggled. The screams. I knew one of them belonged to Manny. It's funny that if you've ever spoken to someone you will always be able to recognize their unrecognizable voice lifted in terror and pain that no human should be forced to endure. He needed help – now.

'Oh, God. Nonononono.'

Teal'c's hand was planted firmly on my chest and Cochran's arms were like a straightjacket from behind, my struggles were useless. I listened as the terrible high-pitched scream abruptly broke off and another explosion rocked the van, no one would ever guess it had ever been white.

Teal'c drew my attention from the horrible conflagration; I couldn't read any emotion on his face that I recognized. But something deep inside told me to run and hide and since I couldn't, I relaxed instead – defeated. Teal'c nodded and removed his hand with a minute nod of his head. With a military precision about-face he headed towards the milling crowd of SFs expressing their impotence in their nervous movements. The back of my mind told me I'd have a full schedule over the next couple of weeks because of this, and sleepless nights of my own – heal thyself physician. Far easier to say than do, I was certain of that.

Cochran still has me in a death grip. So confining that thought I'd explode if I weren't freed instantly.

"Captain," I spit out, the word full of my anger and my own impotence, and not a small amount of hate for being held back. Violently I shrugged, like I'm trying to rid myself of some vile encumbrance. His hands fall away.

All I could do was stare at the licking flames and remember poor Manny, poor terrified Manny. The crunching of steps away from the funeral pyre and me also flashed up a scene of Cochran comforting Manny, a man who did not deserve it in the least. Isiah...

I swung around in time to see Cochran stalk away to the drop-off at the other side of the road. His movements were too controlled, and yet too casual – a study in contradiction. Easily he picked up a fist-sized rock, tossing it into the air and catching it as he completed the last couple of feet to the edge of the road.

Higher and higher the rock flew. His sudden stillness a deception; the rock should have been crushed by the pressure he exerted on it. His muscles bunched, he was an explosion waiting to happen.

I startled when it came, all of that energy and emotion launched the rock out and away to soar into the nothingness that mountains can create. Did I imagine the bellow of pain that blast-waved over me as I watched the rock suddenly drop, a victim to gravity?

With military precision Isiah turned, and with an easy and relaxed stride he walked toward me. He radiated a barely controlled tension, eyes staring straight ahead, to never flicker to me as he strode by. That mask that so terrified me sat firmly on his face as he headed for the vehicle we had commandeered.

Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he was the only person here that wasn't insane.

Shaking the stink of burned flesh from me like a dog would water I quickly ground into motion. Where he goes, so do I. I think this was far harder on him, than me; and I wondered why.

I would have killed myself in an attempt to do the impossible – saving Manny from his own hellfire. Cochran held back, that decision I did not envy him – far easier to play the stupid hero than the smart one.

**Dr Janet Fraiser**

"He shall not have time," declared Teal'c solemnly. He would stick to the plan; this had to work.

With a deliberate glance at the entrance to the Infirmary Teal'c performed that wildly sexy semi-bow, pirouetted and strode for Sam who had just entered, he paused to politely exchange pleasantries before he exited – a man on a mission.

Sam's pale face swiveled towards me from wistfully gazing in the direction of the colonel's private room. My beckoning wave pushed her into motion towards me as I ducked into my office to settle behind my desk. Just a breather before she arrived.

And then she was there, stood hesitantly at the doorjamb, looking like anything at all could set her to running in the other direction. She been that way ever since that unfortunate attempt of hers to heal the colonel, and no amount of badgering her seem to relief the guilt she exuded.

"Sam, come on in. Coffee?"

I busied myself with fixing a cup for myself from my private pot, hoping she'd say yes.

"Thanks, no."

Guess she knew what the subject of my attempt at coffee klatch would have been. Sigh.

"Here to see the Colonel?" I asked hopefully.

"Err, no."

Darn.

With a steaming mug secure in my hand I resumed my position behind my desk, wishing I could pop off my shoes to let my toes warm up. But that would be avoiding the issue, Sam and her guilt, but more importantly her avoidance of Jack. He needed his friends around him, their support. And did she actually believe he'd blame her for any of what happened. The man's not ignorant.

"Why," I asked, point-blank, eye-to-eye and dared her to avoid the question.

"You know why, Janet. What do you want from me?"

She was being defensive and I couldn't blame her one bit. She had placed herself at the center of attention and messed up. It wasn't the messing up that was so bad, it was that everyone knew it was the most likely outcome. Sam had let her feelings lead her down the wrong path and Jack's feelings had allowed her to drag down the same one. Together they'd screwed up – very publicly. This was exactly why Sam and he had insisted on leaving those feelings in that room. Her more than he, but they both knew what could happen, what had nearly happened during that mission to destroy Apophis' newest Mother Ship.

The worst was that no matter how many people told her that she didn't have that kind of influence over Colonel O'Neill she wasn't dumb enough to believe it. She knew better, I knew better and Jack should have; but he would never admit that. I'm not sure that he admits it even to himself deep down.

But this wasn't the point. It wasn't about what we know or don't know. It's about acknowledging it, keeping it alive and allowing it to become a danger to them both – to us all. This was about her current inability to practice denial.

"I want nothing more than what you want, a return to status quo."

Sam's eyes flashed with anger, and that pleased me to no end. Better mad than sad any day of the week.

"You want me to deny what's happened? For the colonel to deny it?"

"It has worked well until now. I always say go with what works."

No answer was forth coming, Sam was on her feet, her mouth working; too shocked to come up with a reply. Or smart enough to not say something she would regret. In a flash she was gone.

Sigh.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

The fact that I was even here – alone – seemed to say something to me. Teal'c wasn't one to drop his guard and after the last couple of days, even less likely to. What with all those rats _accidentally_ going off the road just outside the main gate, and very neatly putting an end to our getting at anything resembling the truth. The whole incident had badly shaken the base; everyone was under suspicion now.

I'd have to have been dead not to have noticed all the extra security, and just how many of them seemed to have me as their special assignment was embarrassing. So I'm thinking that this little mission has approval from very high up.

At least I wasn't crazy enough to try to hobble back to the scene of the crime; I'm using the same mode of transport now as then. And that fact is further evidence of just how approved this mission is. Just look at the total disregard evident in leaving transport within easy reach, unattended and unmanned. And so damned many of them too.

Against my will I grinned, it was funny really. Janet would never have left three wheel chairs outside my room, or even in the Infirmary – unless they were chained to the wall – with me in residence. She figured that out during my first occasion under her care – yepper, smart woman Janet.

Nope, someone else was behind that glut of transport. Someone not as smart was behind this escape attempt. Hmmmm. Janet and MacKenzie seemed a bit cozy until he got his walking papers. Lucky...

Whoa, MacKenzie...

My chair glided to a halt, all my attention suddenly on just how alone I really was. That yahoo was just flaky enough to have set a trap. He'd love to see me right where he believed I belonged – a rubber room. Absently, I rubbed my hand along the tire of the chair and listened. There were only the echoes of distant fans and the sounds of the elevator cars moving in the nearby shafts; and my heart, quickened by the thought of MacKenzie and what he might be up to. I wasn't up to this cat and mouse stuff – not yet.

Sudden pain across my palm pulled me from imagining him skulking along the dark side of the hall, with bulky nurses bigger than Teal'c in tow, complete with bright flashes off of a readied needle and the floating ghostly form of a straitjacket. I snatched my sweaty hand away from where I'd been trying to scrap off skin and smoothed the pain away with the thumb of my other hand; with a little help from some spit glue.

Damn, I'm nervous. I won't admit to more. It has to be the aftermath of the drugs. It has to be. I'm not given to imagining, daydreaming or any of the stuff that will get an airman in Special Forces killed. Always alert, always on top of it, never losing track. That's me. That's Jack O'Neill. Or had been.

It can't be the thought of MacKenzie that has me giving myself pep talks like this. No. It's facing Carter. After eight long days of having Teal'c show me just how much of a Simon LeGree he can be, I've finally worked up the guts to see about putting things right between us. About finding out if we can.

I'm not sure if that's possible anymore – too much water under the bridge.

I should have known something was up; this was a setup. Someone's attempt to get the team bonds back where they belong. Daniel finally joined in by starting this string of events, Teal'c just handed me over like some kind of condemned prisoner; dragged in different kind of chains to the gate room to see Jacob off. Crap! I'd already made my peace with Carter senior. Yeah, it wasn't the greatest peace. Just a promise to not kill any Tok'ra on sight, least of all him. Someone didn't think I'd put enough effort into it and it needed repeating. My guess was Hammond.

Leaning back into the uncomfortably taut back sling of the wheelchair, I sighed. A hand over my eyes, my other had my thigh in a death grip. I could feel it, something I never imagined to feel again – all because of Sam's dad. It had been so embarrassing to have him beg for my forgiveness, and not just him – Selmak.

There in full view of the control room – for crying out loud!

Bad enough I was in a wheel chair, worse that Daniel was pushing me around like some kind of invalid who couldn't wipe his own ass, like someone with an acute need for diapers. But to have an ex-general practically get down on his knees to me was way more than I could take; it should have been that bitch that did all that distasteful groveling. One of these days...

Groan.

And when Daniel finally got me outta there I exploded. I made my own way to my other keeper minus him. Daniel I'd left a smoking emotional casualty standing stunned in the dark behind me. But I wasn't alone, never that anymore it seemed, shadows followed my every turn like I was gonna make a run for it. I woulda if I coulda.

I'd done a good job of pissing off a lot of people lately. But, dammit... I... I... I could be such a jerk, a louse, the most ungrateful SOB under this or any other sun. Eventually people found out just who I really was.

I'm back in hard-and-fast motion with that admission, headed for Carter's on-base quarters. Yep, the place I'd made such a fool of myself. Round two.

No sense in putting this off, and I rapped on the door. Took me a few beats to realize nothing was happening.

"Carter, come on. Open up, we have to talk," I said loud enough that the words echoed faintly along the darkened hall. Why is it that every time I have to do something like this, it's night, or dark or really bad weather? Makes me want to check my reflection in a mirror, do I have one?

"Carter," I banged on the door this time. "Carter!"

"Sir?"

My heart was in my throat before I could draw another breath and I felt like I was gonna pass out. Damn, I was in bad shape. "Carter," I croaked, and jerked my head around. She stood there, blocking the faint light. I didn't need to see her face, her body told me everything. She was ready to bolt, to run. I had to prevent that; we had to talk. And I was willing to push all her buttons to achieve my mission.

"Sam, please..."

"No, Jack..."

It was like something out of a bad movie; we each started to speak at the same time, we each broke off to stare blankly at one another. Where were the cue cards I wondered, sure there should be cue cards for this lame scene.

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me Sam. I'm here for the duration," it sounded tough, it sounded like a command and I hoped it got me what I needed – time.

"Sir..."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away from here. We are _going_ to talk." It's damned hard to look commanding from a wheel chair, but it must have worked. Without a word she stepped around me, unlocked the door and pushed it open. She turned on the room lights and stepped back to allow me to enter.

It was then that I got my first good look at Carter, in the light that poured out of that door. She wasn't one to do a lot of crying, but she must have been, her face was swollen in all the right places. Reminded me of Sara's first trimester, three months of irrational tears, you never forget how the woman you love looks after crying their heart out over something – never.

And I was the reason. If I'd been on my feet I'd have stumbled at the devastation I saw on her face and I felt ashamed. Just by existing I caused her pain.

I should have come sooner. I should never have lowered my guard and allowed her to touch my heart, she would have been better off. O'Neill, you stupid fool.

Ruthlessly I pushed forward into the room, drawing attention to what I saw would only hurt her. And I'd done enough of that already. Reaching the middle of the room, I swung around to face her as she pulled the door shut behind her; she flattened against it, just as far as she could get from me. It hurt.

"Sam... eh, Carter..." I changed names as something indefinable fell across her face, something very like pain. "Carter. Thank you."

That indefinable disappeared under a whole lot of shocked confusion.

"I should have thanked you sooner, but... I'm kinda messed up, according to Fraiser. I apologize."

Carter's mouth opened and than snapped shut. Then her lips pressed into a firm straight line as her eyes narrowed.

"Apologize? Thank me? For what? Do you know what I did to you?"

Carter's voice was high and trembled and her eyes were hard. Her tears didn't show, but you sure could hear them. That's my major, she could convey her emotions, yet had enough of a rein on them to prevent them from making her appear like an emotional woman. Not that I didn't see her as a woman, a very wonderful, brilliant, beautiful and tough as nails woman. She was oh so much more than that.

"Yes, you tried to help me, despite myself," I spoke from the heart, as earnestly as I could.

It was the truth, plain and simple. This stupid SOB needed help and she provided it – or tried to. If not for her, I was pretty certain that by the end of twelve months I would have been remembered only by the missing plane that didn't fly over the plot of earth I would have been buried in.

Carter pushed away from the door and stalked over to me, she wanted my hand in the worst way and I didn't fight her. She turned it over-and-over, running her strong, but very feminine fingers over my rough ones. Things stirred that had no business stirring. Carter kept her eyes down, not meeting mine.

"I destroyed this hand..."

"Carter..."

"I did! And Dad said that Selmak might not have been able to fix it if they had arrived any later than then did. If..."

"It's okay. See it works," I slipped my hand out of her grip and waggled the fingers; I couldn't catch her eyes, even when I ducked down. My attempt at lightening the conversation fell flat.

"You could have lost that hand, or worse I could have forced you to use a sarcophagus to fix my mistake. I'm good that that, forcing you into doing things – real good."

'What?'

Is this what's got her back up. She forced me? Fat lot of chance of that, my son didn't even have that power and I'd do anything for him – anything. Nudge maybe, but not force – never that – she could never do that. She wasn't capable of that.

Carter stepped back, twisted around and stood there with her back to me. I couldn't let her take that kind of blame, to believe that kind of thing of herself. I had to act.

Now was the time to use my high card. Slowly I rose to my feet and stood. My physio sessions had been exhausting and doing this now was chancy. I could feel my legs trembling already. Slowly, carefully I closed the distance between Carter and I. Only a soft pressure of my hand on her shoulder and she turned and buried her face in my chest, her arms wrapped around me so tight that I could barely breathe. That tight grip of hers was a good thing, cause I was certain that I would have fallen for sure without it. Together we kept each other whole.

There were no tears or sobs. She just clung to me, and I clung to her. I didn't need to hear the words and I didn't need to say them. We were saying goodbye.

Not the final, never to see one another again goodbye. But a resumption of the agreement reached over the revelation of the Zatarc testing, the revealing of our feelings back in the bowels of Apophis' handy-dandy new Mother Ship. Only a shimmering field of force and a bond that would not break between us, we would die together, rather than one of us live without the other. That was so not good – the living or the dying. Neither of us had that luxury.

Carter was Earth's greatest intellectual treasure, one I routinely endangered. But to not do so would have been an insult to her. I understood her need to stand on her own two feet, and she was very capable of doing that. Losing her would have been a tragedy. I refuse to allow that to happen. And if that means that I deny my heart – by god, I will.

**Major Sam Carter**

Slowly his arms tightened around me, his chest hardly moved, as if he held his breath. I could feel his trembling. I knew Teal'c had put him through the wringer today. Standing was so stupid of him. But it was the right thing to do; the right way to reach me, and Jack O'Neill always seemed to do the right thing.

I wanted to make this moment last for an eternity; I never wanted to let him go. He is my addiction and withdrawal too awful to contemplate.

It is said that if you truly love someone you have to let them go. He was doing that for me and I needed to do it for him. This was agony for me, how much more so for him? It was so unfair for him to bear any more pain, especially because of my own selfishness. This is right, our return to our quiet denial and an unspoken hope for the future – our future – together.

And just as unspoken is the widespread belief that Jack O'Neill is the future, that he will do something, somewhere. And that act will free us all. You can see it in Teal'c's eyes when he speaks of freeing his fellow Jaffa, those soft brown eyes, so different from the steel he is, will fasten on the colonel. And a hush will settle over his words, a wonder, an absolute belief that this man he had given all for, was the key to the salivation of his people.

Thor too believes hungrily, so hungrily that he moves cautiously and carefully. Thor, more than any, understands how easily hope can be destroyed by wanting it too much, that a hard and fast grab at it will shatter it. He protects the colonel as much as he dares, but he also places him at great risk. Trusting that the uniqueness that is Jack will protect him to reach that unknown time and place of destiny.

Why else would the Nox, and the Tollen place so much trust in him?

They can see it and feel it as much as I can. The universe whirls and swirls around this man. And he is blind to it. But unerringly he can reach out and touch what needs to be touched to set in motion the events that must be put into motion; usually at great risk to himself, if not physically, then emotionally and spiritually. He suffers greatly for each decision, holding only himself responsible for the failures and never dreaming he had any hand in the successes.

I knew when I told him to go, to run, to save himself, that he would be forever in pain. But he needed to live. I'm not so sure that my survival would have made a whit of difference in the destiny he must achieve. A destiny I'm certain is not just his, but of every living soul on this planet, if not this poor little backwater galaxy.

For this man I love, I would deny my feelings for his sake, to perhaps make his journey easier. I will lock up my heart and hide the key where only he can find it. How could I believe there is any other for me? He is the one.

His knee slipped between my legs, he fairly shook with the effort to remain standing. He doesn't look as heavy as he is, I've had more than one occasion to find out the hard way. With ease of practice I got him into his chair, he smiled his thanks and we just gazed into each other's eyes – lost. I could feel him trying to memorize all he could, as if this would be the very last time he would ever see me. And I guess in a way it is.

"Someday," he said and his hand caught mine in a tight hold, "I promise." With obvious reluctance, and a look of regret in his eyes, Jack pulled back, swung his wheel chair around and steadily moved away. Back to his role, his life, his isolation – our isolation – each of us playing the role of the brave airman, slaves to a greater destiny.

Unable to bear it any longer I softly shut out the sight by closing the door, clicked off the light and leaned there against the new barrier between us. I remained there for a long, long time.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

"Daniel!"

"What? You think that little bit of juice and toast, that you've only half eaten by the way, will get you though the day?"

Jack looked at the egg and may have turned a little green.

"Eat it."

"You eat it," my friend spat back, his eyes averted from the plate.

"And what would that accomplish?"

"Getting it out of my sight before I toss my toast and juice back up." The lack of a smirk told me he wasn't kidding.

"If you can't eat a proper meal you must be returned to the Infirmary."

"Maybe we should take him back to Janet, Teal'c. He doesn't look so good." And he didn't.

Jack's answer was to glare at both of us, but his hand picked up a fork and with a visible effort of will the egg was wolfed down. I'm sure he never tasted it; maybe that was the whole idea.

"You still have some toast. Maybe that'll, err, help with the..." I waved a finger up and down my cheek to indicate his obvious discomfort; he was still greenish.

The toast disappeared the same way; he treated it all like a dare.

"Satisfied?"

"Ah, not yet. If it doesn't made a reappearance – involuntarily – then I will be."

"It won't."

"How about another one?"

"You're pushing it, Daniel."

I couldn't help the smirk, it did wonders for Jack, he was more red than green now.

**Capt. Isiah Cochran**

"Come on Colonel, it's not like you to hold that kind of grudge," I insisted.

I wasn't about to let Jack do to Mac what he did to Frank. Most of all I wasn't gonna let him do it to himself. He needed to do this for himself more than anyone, though it had pissed me off to know that Mac had this thing hanging over him.

"You don't know me as well as you think."

O'Neill glared at me from the chair he sat in, one hand constantly kneading one thigh or the other, occasionally lifting a leg a few inches off the floor, like they were constantly tingling or something. I tried to ignore what he was doing, best not to remind him that he was sitting and I was standing.

"Possible, but you don't know 'him' like I do," I shot back.

Jeez, Jack wake up and smell the roses, you and I both know what's going on here. Lets kick the denial gig.

"You like 'him' so much, you be his friend. I don't trust him." Jack stretched out a leg and grimaced, he gave all the signs that sitting wasn't at all comfortable. I worried that maybe he should be lying down, maybe he was pushing too hard.

"I am his friend, as much as he'll let me be. And I'm your friend too," I declared with as much sincerity as I could.

"Are you?"

"Oh that hurts."

"I hardly know you."

"Have to prove myself then? Maybe take a bullet for you?"

"I take my own bullets and I decide when someone's a friend, or not."

"You have high standards."

"I'm still alive because of them."

"And your friends?"

"That's why I decide who they are."

"You can take only so many bullets then."

"Rather me than them."

"Bullshit!"

"Scuse me?"

The man was beautifully stunned. What's wrong Jack, not used to have anyone talk back at ya anymore?

"You heard me – bullshit. You are not the cold-hearted bastard you pretend to be. You've been taking chances, look at the friends you have. Dr. Jackson, Teal'c and that ravishing Major Carter. See, you even blushed."

"The hell I did!"

Couldn't keep the grin off my face as O'Neill's face reddened even more, it was fast approaching fire engine.

"There's gotta be a mirror around here," I started to rummage around, giving the guy a chance to compose himself. Agitating him was the goal, not to have him stroke out. Jeez, Isiah.

"Stop that," Jack yelped out, banging his wooden crutch against his chair for good measure.

Did he actually use that thing? Bet he didn't, too proud to be seen using a crutch of any type.

"Only if you'll listen," I insisted. His silence was good enough agreement for me and I plowed right on. "Mac took a bullet for your Dr. Jackson, took it on the second try. But you probably would have taken it on the first. Is that why you won't drop that disciplinary note from his jacket? The fact he didn't take it the first time and died in the doing?"

"And what business is it of yours? Hammond specifically said I'd have carte blanche on his punishment."

"Then punish him. Stand him at the gate in his underwear, require him to spit shine that fuel guzzler you drive… but don't punish him for what happened between him and Dr Jackson with that Goa'uld killing slug. He did what he was convinced he had to do. He didn't know any better and there wasn't any malice intended, why assign it?" I had to admit O'Neill was stubborn, he sat there trying to come up with a good argument, but he had to know there wasn't one. "You're not that kind of man are you? Didn't you learn anything from what happened with Frank?"

"That's none your goddamned business!"

Whoa, way past fire engine red now.

"Maybe, maybe not. But you forget that I saw you two as friends and as enemies after Iraq. I may have been just a kid, but I'm who I am today because of the two of you. Frank never gave up hoping for your forgiveness, he damn well knew that the friendship would never resume. But he was convinced that you'd do the standup thing and forgive him. Dammit, Jack, he thought you were dead. And from what I heard, he would have been captured or killed for sure if he had thought otherwise. He'd never have left if he knew you were alive. Do you want to do the same to MacKenzie? Are you that much of a bastard?"

"Get the Hell out, Captain!"

"If you insist, 'Colonel.' You tried to get Mac kicked out of the SGC back then, you can't hide that. If you'd succeeded Danny would be dead right now. And probably Eric and a few others of the people you won't acknowledge as friends. How would you be able to live with that knowledge? They say it's best to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Even as an enemy he valuable, he's a known quantity. Being the smart man you are, I know you'll make the right decision."

"Careful, Captain…"

O'Neill's alarming change from bright red to pale, was starting to panic me, maybe I overdid this a bit.

"Yeah, yeah, captain to your colonel, beside I never liked being a captain. I'll be back."

Yeah, Isiah, leave with a threat on your lips, but leave now, the man isn't looking good. Crap, I pushed too hard too soon.

"A threat?"

"A promise, friends always come back. And like it or not, we are."

I shot back at him and quickly closed the door, hoping I hadn't done him any more harm then upset his idea of who Mac was.

The hollow thud of his crutch sounded as the door closed on my heel, telling me I had gone too far. I'd pushed him. I'd be lucky I wasn't the one standing guard in my underwear at the gate. The risk was worth it though, more for him, than Mac. I could always do a little hocus-pocus to that little slip of paper.

Best I go check on Mac now, so I turned around just in time to have a huge meaty hand grab my throat and push me up against the wall. Oh, Isiah, today is so not your day. Crap.

"Ah, Teal'c. How are ya, big guy?" I wheezed though his grip.

He didn't answer, just squeezed a little harder. And that damned video of Manny's interrogation flashed through my head. Relax Isiah, it isn't like you tried to kill, injure or maim anyone. Ah... at least not physically. I grinned and choked out a question.

"Have you spoken to Dr Fraiser?"

The man's deadpan expression couldn't hide the flash of confusion, and his fingers let up enough for me to actually put my feet flat on the ground.

"I have."

"Funny that," his grip tightened – sooo not the time to be joking around here Isiah. "So have I."

"Indeed."

"Ah, yes. And I think I overdid it a bit. I'm sorry Teal'c. But dammit, you know how he can be," if I had been sincere with Jack I was being _very_ sincere with Teal'c.

The big guy seemed to be considering my words and I was hoping he didn't want a detailed mission report, cause I wasn't gonna give one for Jack's sake. Teal'c could crumple me if he wanted; my lips were sealed on the subjects discussed. I would never break that confidence.

"He can be most stubborn," Teal'c declared, but he let me go.

"Maybe you should check on him? I didn't like how he looked."

And just like that I didn't exist anymore. As Teal'c melted into O'Neill's room I whirled and ran like hell in the opposite direction. I've gotta be more careful next time – way more careful.

**Teal'c**

"You've been hanging around Janet too much. You know that don't you."

O'Neill lay sweating profusely, chest heaving with his efforts. My brother was not fighting as well as in the past against his body's reluctance to recover. In the short time I've known the man, I have seen him age. Jaffa do not age as humans do, it is not so apparent. Yet, he is strong and determined – when properly motivated.

"No, I do not."

"Physio is not the Iron Man. Let's slow it down," he stated, fending off my efforts to mop the sweat from his body. I allowed him to take the towel from me and attempt it himself. Too long has he been without control, I will give over as much as I can.

"I have seen many physio sessions. DanielJackson has put more effort into past sessions that do you."

Even O'Neill can be manipulated. His aim of the sodden towel is flawless and I consider allowing it to connect with his intended target, and quickly dismiss the idea, catching it just short of my face.

"Is that so! Watch."

Clenching his hands into the matting O'Neill lifted one weighted ankle at a time as far from the floor as possible. It may have been only inches higher than earlier, but it was enough. He fights. This is both good and bad. Half of any battle is knowing when to break from the enemy to fight another day.

"Use prudence my brother. If you wish to eat you must be able to get to the Commissary without aid, as you agreed."

"Yeah, yeah. I know, to stay out of the Infirmary and out of Janet's clutches, I do as you say."

"Indeed."

"Tyrant!"

**Lt. Eric Van Sickle**

With the hollow metallic thump of the SGC's gate ramp under my feet I knew I was home. Only it didn't feel like home, not anymore. PBX 123 had that feel, but I guess home was with my team below.

The heaviness in my chest told me that this part of my life was about to end, that my team would be broken up and scattered to the four corners of the earth. This felt so much like failure. I was losing my home and family, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it, except to survive. This wasn't the end, just a new beginning I kept telling myself. I wish I were a better liar.

Deliberately I forced myself to smile, but more so I forced myself to feel the smile. And to my surprise, I did.

There was nothing that I couldn't handle, nothing that could long keep me from any goal I set myself. This is what I'd come away with. Myself.

The friendships built on this mission were a bonus beyond my wildest dreams. We may all be going our separate ways, but we all knew how to keep in touch. Addresses, phone numbers and e-mail addys had been exchanged. I even had Smooth Drake's, why I wasn't sure.

And Monty had made sure that I had Tina Ironhorse's contact information. Dennis and he are of the opinion that Tina did not do what she did out of choice. I find it hard to hold that kind of compassion for the woman after what she tried to do. But I promised that I would try to discover the why of her actions.

"Lt. Van Sickle," rang out of the loud speakers causing everyone to look up to the control room where General Hammond stood. "Please report to me."

With a salute and a quick okay sign, I dived into the crowd to work my way up to his office. He was there and waiting.

"Sit down, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Sir."

Sitting stiffly and my eye was glued to him, as he very obviously looked me over.

"You don't look too bad. How do you feel?"

The concern on his face warmed me and I answered honestly.

"Been better, Sir."

"That good, and dispense with the formalities. This is... an informal conversation."

Of course, now I was nervous. When a general tells you something like this, it can't be good.

"Okaaaay."

Hammond smiled broadly at my answer and I felt my face heat.

"Relax son, this won't be pleasant, but it's not as bad as you imagining"

Yeah, well, I could imagine a lot.

"The first item is the most unpleasant. Tina Ironhouse was found dead in her cell two days ago. She hung herself."

He might as well have dumped a truckload of brick on me with that statement, he hadn't been kidding that this wasn't going to be pleasant.

"She..."

"Not a word, not one syllable passed her lips. Even when Teal'c visited her."

My eye widened at that revelation, the woman was tough. And this made me wonder what had twanged Monty and Dennis enough to have compassion for her.

"Also there is the matter of those involved on the attempt on Colonel O'Neill's life."

And for what seemed like hours I listened as General Hammond explained what had happened here on base, giving me far more information than Teal'c had about the incident and this was the first I'd heard about their deaths. And hard as I tried, I felt more than satisfaction at the idea that they had died. I knew that justice had, and had not been done, but it was emotionally gratifying in a sick sorta way. I couldn't bring myself to feel ashamed about my reaction.

"But there is still the problem of you."

"Me?"

"Circumstances have prevented our determining who targeted you. We do know why, and that why must be protected. Your unique genetics could be a valuable weapon against the Goa'uld."

General Hammond must have seen my dismay, and quickly continued.

"You are not going to be the subject of experimentation, the President made that abundantly clear. All that will be asked is the occasional blood and tissue samples. Your existence and uniqueness has been placed under the highest possible security, anyone wanting to know about you will have to go to the President first. You entire future is in his hands."

It took me a few moments to digest this, and I didn't like it.

"I'm in protective custody, I'll never leave here."

The answer was clear, I had just become persona non grata, and I no longer existed. The weave of the rug suddenly became very engrossing.

"Son... Son, listen to me," the sad and somewhat horrified pleading in this strong man's voice jerked my eye up to his.

"I won't lie to you, in the beginning that is exactly what it will be like, but we all have high hopes of ferreting out the threat to you. Invisibility will not be your permanent state."

Somehow I just couldn't believe him.

"Arrangements have been made that will make this period as painless as possible. First, you are now officially a full lieutenant, by Presidential Decree."

"What?"

"Additionally, you will begin a course of studies that will ensure you rapid advance up the ranks..."

"Is this just some way to mollify me?"

My voice rang with anger and I shook with it.

"No. It is not."

Hammond's authority dripped from those clipped words, calming me like nothing else could have.

"I apologize, Sir."

"I understand, son. It's all a lot to take in, and we've barely started."

I mouthed back the 'barely started' part, shocked out of my military protocol entirely. Hammond nodded and smiled back. And I know that I flushed again. Damned emotions.

For the next hour or more Hammond lead me though the President's expectations of my future service to him. My Commander and Chief was placing me in charge of a program called the Mirror Site, the same program I'd just done the survey on, the reason we were we all had been on PBX 123.

I had achieved my goal. Colonel O'Neill's dream was coming true. We'd be keeping injured airmen and others from the various armed forces branches that could no longer meet fitness standards for the front lines of the SGC would be assigned to the Mirror Site. I should have been happy... proud, elated even. And I did feel them, only I also felt cheated, betrayed and like a failure.

"Why me?" I'd asked at one point.

Hammond proceeded to embarrass me in a way I'd never been. He told me that Colonel O'Neill wasn't the only person to have faith in me and described in great and excruciating detail all the good reports of my instructors, peers and even the early reports from my team.

According to the general I was the best person for the job. Yes, young – and yes, not of sufficient rank. But the President of the United State had every confidence that these two hurdles would take care of themselves in due time.

It was so unprecedented that I found it hard to believe. It had been so out in left field for me to have commanded the team to PBX 123, this was out on the edge of the unseen universe.

Hammond was forthcoming with the why of me getting that impossible command. It seems that Colonel O'Neill had written it up as a training exercise. Hammond had countersigned it. The SGC did train their own and it was tradition that their training was... for lack of a better word, unorthodox.

"Sir? The team. Are they... will they..."

"I'm sorry, Son. But yes. They will also be under the same seal of secrecy; they are being briefed right now. They will be given the choice of serving here in the SGC, or returning to PBX 123. I believe that they will all chose to return there with you. There is much to do there and all of them have enough seniority to head their own departments."

The man was watching for my reaction, so I stifled the urge to hold my head and straightened my back instead. His fleeting smile approved of my choice.

"But, no one as junior as me gets a command this big? This isn't right."

Hammond chuckled. "That's what I told the President. So there is a solution. You are directly under the command of Colonel O'Neill, he is officially the head of SG-1 and Second in Command of the SGC, while secretly in full command of the SGC-Mirror as it is now officially designated."

This was too much, and I began to open my mouth to tell General Hammond that, only he brought up his hand and resumed.

"Yes, I know. This is too much for just one man. In the Colonel's absence you will report to me, all reports will be copied to me, I will do all the forwarding with the help of my own administrative assistant, a trusted member of this command. You, with the help of those who return with you, will do all the work of the command as if you were its commander. Colonel O'Neill is to be considered advisory only. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir. Crystal." I grinned at this. It had all been neatly thought out and arranged. Even though it still felt like I was dreaming the impossible dream. I would do my best to meet the challenge.

Hammond rose and offered his hand and I stood and took it.

"Good luck, son. I know you'll do us all proud. Now get out of my office. We both have better things to do than chew the fat."

I snapped into a parade ground stance and shot off a salute. He waved me off, dropping his eyes to the pile of paperwork that littered his desk.

I could have sworn I heard him say something about 'hanging around Jack too much' as I shot out of the door to find my people.

**Dr Daniel Jackson**

Jack snored softly under Teal'c's watchful eye. Papers covered the wide bed he lay on, propped up by a couple of pillows. I knew Teal'c and he were working hard to get him fit, but I had no idea there was this much paperwork involved.

Even as I watched Jack began to restlessly move in his sleep, he still suffered from vivid dreams and nightmares about what had happened on PBX 123. All of us knew to wake him when that started. I sat at the equally paper covered table to wait.

It gave me a little time to mull over how Teal'c explained his behavior as Jack's life had hung in the balance, when it looked as if Teal had abandoned him. Leaving Jack open to give up, and die, his hope gone. Teal'c said that he knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade Jack, but knew that something would happen to change his mind. It always did. That he trusted in Jack's fate to fix the problem. Thus his loyalty had never wavered – honor had been served. And in no way should I have felt otherwise.

It all boiled done to simple faith. Teal'c had faith that Jack, even after a few false starts, would do the right thing. I stared thoughtfully at my sleeping friend and wondered if perhaps there was something to the idea that Jack had a fate and it would not allow him to simply die before that fate could be accomplished, though it did not seem to mind taking him to the very edge of death along the way.

Jack's movements increased suddenly, all the signs of a troubled sleep.

When papers actually started to slide off the bed Teal'c approached him to grip the nearest wrist, the same arm that had been broken and healed, and pressed it down. But he was careful to watch the far arm; Jack was certainly capable of rearing up and clobbering anyone who touched him while asleep.

"Mmphh," his arm came up to press his hand to his face, and to my delight that knee rose as it always had on his coming around.

"DanielJackson is here."

"Danny?"

"Here, Jack. What's with all the paper?"

We were preserving Jack's dignity by ignoring just why he had been awakened; I was a convenient excuse.

"Yeah, lots of paper, courtesy of Walter."

"I hear Eric and company are on base."

"Heard that too, I got an e-mail and expect him to drop by tonight some time, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment."

Jack's face lit up as he spoke, finally something was going right here.

"So?"

"You might say the President couldn't stand the idea that I was flat on my back doing pretty much nothing. He's approved the Mirror Site."

Now this was really good news.

"Congratulations, Jack. I know how much effort you put in to making it happen."

"Don't congratulate me Danny-boy, it was Eric's doing, he and his team. He bought them together and forged them into a unit. I'm still trying to figure out how come I seem to be doing all the paperwork though."

"Then you're in command?" I asked, afraid of his answer. Maybe they were going to transfer Jack; he had a lot of knowledge and experience, too much to lose being in command of a first contact team.

"Well, yes and no. I seem to be the designated figurehead, looks like I'm in command, but the kid is doing all the work," Jack smirked in high form.

"O'Neill only has to endure the tedious paperwork for two weeks," Teal'c volunteered. Teal'c doesn't necessarily do that so the timing had some kind of importance.

I never got to find out because there was a knock on the door and a familiar voice called out.

"Sir, are you decent?"

"Unfortunately I am Major, come on in," Jack bellowed with something of his old vigor and volume.

Sam's face popped around the edge of the door, she looked good. I knew that she and Jack had worked something out between them. They were the only ones who knew just what.

"Sir, General Hammond asked me to extend an invitation to you."

"An invite? What's that all about? Do I hafta dress up in the penguin suit?" The man could do little boy contrite so well, it should be illegal. But it made Sam laugh; we all laughed.

"No, Sir. It's just an informal welcome to the SGC-Mirror staff," Sam supplied.

"Is that the name they picked?" I enquired.

"Seems so, Danny. Might change though, you know how we military types are," Jack challenged.

"Don't."

"Do.

"Don't"

"Do too!"

"Do not, Jack. All I know is once they pick a name they stick with it right or wrong. You should be happy they didn't call it Jack's Folly."

"Yeah, you're right, wouldn't want that handle." Jack turned his attention back to Sam; he looked at her just a beat too long, appraising what he saw. A ghost of a smile flashed across her face, just before he spoke again. "When and where is this little get-together, Major?"

"In a week. It'll be here on the Mountain."

"The Mountain," I asked confused. "You mean the SGC, don't you, Sam?"

"No, I mean the Mountain. Actually on the land that surrounds Cheyenne Mountain. You remember that little creek don't you, Sir?" Sam switched the conversation back to Jack. He leaned back, both hands behind his head thinking.

"Yeah," a hand slipped out from under his head to help him convey his words, "I do. Sweet little secret that is, some of the best wild trout left in Colorado. I had to get special permission to just dip a line in it; protected ya know."

"Well, sir. General Hammond procured that permission again for you," Sam smiled at the wide grin that news painted on Jack's face. "Only I don't understand the meaning of the condition?"

"Condition?" I echoed.

"Barbless, isn't it?" Jack asked.

"Yes, that's the term. What does it mean?" Sam asked way too innocently.

I leaned back and listened as Jack launched into fishing jargon, more animated and happy than I'd seen him since before Eric had left for PBX 123. And Sam was the same. Teal'c flashed me that look that said he too approved of what was happening. SG-1 was on its way to being whole again.

It was a pleasant interlude in the busy and often distasteful happenings at the SGC. Little things like this between people who depended on each other to survive made all the horror and pain worth it.

Right now the future would wait an hour or so. I knew that this whole thing wasn't resolved, may never be resolved. But there were some difficult decisions that needed to be made before the week was out. That get-together would was much more than that, it was a test of many decisions, only some of them Jack's.

It was going to be a very long week.

**XXX**

That one week had been one of the longest I could remember, but we where here now.

The setting was beautiful, just the kind of beauty that Jack loved. With all those complaints about trees on every world that harbored them, one would think he disliked them. On the contrary, he loved them. He especially loved them if they harbored water teeming with fish.

This place, where the dirt road ran over a huge corrugated metal culvert had been listed as off-limits years ago according to Jack. It had been over-used, the trees endangered, the creek full of trash and the fish gone. He had never given any inkling to any of us that he had actively volunteered to help restore the area, spending time hand-pulling noxious weeds, felling trees to create pools to harbor the fish he so loved. He even made sure that someday it would be available to families to enjoy on a limited basis. This would be the first time anyone had been allowed to picnic here since it had been placed off-limits.

Sgt Siler it seemed had been in cahoots with him on part of this project. He and Jack had crafted the environmentally friendly fire pits and picnic tables. Porta Potties had been brought in for the occasion. Never again would a forest toilet reside along this waterway. Only truck-out sanitation facilities would be allowed here as long as anyone at Cheyenne Mountain had a say in it.

The facilities would be modeled after those found inside the caldera at Crater Lake National Park, out at the western edge of the nation, in Oregon. Contamination there was something that could not happen as anything spilled inside those rock ramparts stayed there. So special toilets had been designed for the thousands of visitors a day that walked down the 3.1 mile steep zigzag of a trail to the edge of the bluest lake on the planet, if it was good enough to protect one of our planets greatest natural wonders, it was good enough for this one, according to Siler. He even showed me the blueprints for it. Now I knew just where Jack went for a week out of every year. I wondered why I never noticed that Siler had been gone at the same time.

I knew that those two could be as thick as thieves, but this was beyond even my imaginings; as was this beautiful place that Jack and he had worked to restore and protect.

The trees, some still showing the scars they received at the hands of inconsiderate humans, stood proudly in ranks along the swift cold stream. Low lying native shrubs and plants, some a riot of color, carpeted the partially open area that had been so compacted that nothing had grown there for many years. Carefully planned narrow paths of native stone provided access to the water and each tiny island of packed earth that remained around each picnic table. Very different from the pictures that Siler had had along with those blueprints.

Siler was so proud of the difference; I knew Jack must have been too. But all of this helped to explain why the whole gathering was limited to around thirty individuals and no private vehicles at all. A shuttle van ferried back and forth from the base to here on a regular schedule for this event.

Sam found the shuttle very interesting, it was one of the very few electric vehicles on base; she and Siler spent a lot of time checking it out when it wasn't actually moving.

Jack and Teal'c had been the first arrivals. Teal'c had carefully set up a padded chair for Jack next to the table closest to the water. Food and drink close at hand, and extra clothing. I knew that Jack had been admonished to rest, no long periods of standing, and no walking off the paths. And Janet had added forget the water unless Teal'c was there. Sounded to me like the instructions to an eight year old. But Jack had solemnly nodded his agreement. I think he really, really wanted to get out of the Mountain.

It was late spring and here under the trees it could be quite chilly. Everyone and everything revolved around his position, but apart from him. Jack looked relaxed, even though I knew he couldn't possibly be so. He hated the attention and especially like this.

Each member of Eric's team had been presented to Jack as if he were the local king, though I could see that many of them seemed to understand his discomfort and went out of their way to act as if this were just a family get-together. People who knew of each other, but had never met face-to-face. It was going well.

Not everyone had made it yet, and that was probably why Teal'c had left after getting Jack settled. Eric had yet to make his appearance.

Jack chatted with a steady stream of arrivals. Two of the fire pits had lazy curls of smoke rising from them. Janet, who had arrived on the last shuttle run, was fussing with the food, helped by Siler. Looked like hot dogs and burgers from here. A toot from the road announced the return of the van.

Somehow Jack knew who had arrived, he met Eric at the very edge of the parking area. Neither was ashamed enough to prevent the bear hugs they exchanged, then a few words and smiles before Jack sent him off to greet his team, they had all day to catch up, even if they had spent a good chuck of last evening deep in easy conversation. Teal'c and Sam were right there to fill the gap left as Jack watched the greetings being exchanged at the first fire pit, unofficial PBX 123 territory.

Sam hugged Jack, rubbing his back in welcome. He had a loose grip on her waist. Two people who worked together closely, nothing overt at all, it was rather sad. They so deserved each other. As Sam finally sped off to join Janet to help with the food, the expression on Jack's face told me there was hope for them, which made me smile.

Teal'c wasn't alone, two men and two women stood behind him. The sight of them killed Jack's mood like fire retardant dropped from an air tanker onto a forest fire. One of the men pushed forward, allowing Teal'c to beat a hasty retreat.

"Jack."

"Isiah... MacKenzie," the last name was said with no small amount of contempt, but both men were smart enough to ignore the tone. Behind them, the two very pretty women chatting non-stop, entirely missing the exchange.

Jack gave Captain Isiah Cochran a death glare of epic proportions, and then jerked his head to follow him. He in turn bowed the ladies ahead of him to closely follow Jack's slow progress back to his padded chair; Cochran pulled a reluctant MacKenzie along. The man couldn't look me in the eye, not that I wanted him to, even if he had saved my life. There are some things I found difficult to forgive.

Their arrival had me very curious and I wasn't about to leave until I found out what was going on and who invited this group, they weren't on any guest list I'd seen.

**Colonel Jack O'Neill**

This had been such a good day, embarrassing, but good. I should have known better.

I had hoped Isiah couldn't make it, and then I would have only had to cope with MacKenzie. But no, I get both of them – and – their dates. Scuttlebutt will have the ladies as the second couple of a double date. Oy.

The ladies were rather friendly, so much so that Janet and Sam flew in and chatted them out of my hair just in time for Cochran to arrive. MacKenzie pretty much hid behind him.

"Jack; got your eleventh hour invite. Hope you don't mind us bringing the girls?" Isiah had the gall to smirk.

"Did you forget about clearances?" I hazarded, he never forgot things like that, but this could be a first, but I doubted it.

"Cheyenne Mountain isn't the center of the universe Jack. Who do you think files all those precisely worded reports you write?"

Had to admit, he had me there. I wrote them, Hammond read them and I knew that the Joint Chiefs and the President read them. So there had to be others, it only stood to reason. However, these were, well, just a couple of girls. From the expression on Isiah's face, he had a card up his sleeve.

"Them?"

Cochran smirked even more; I found it irritating. He looked at the gaggle of women roasting hot dogs and pointed a finger in their direction.

"See, that's Susan in the red jacket. Sam knows her from one of the technology research groups the Joint Chiefs put together as an offset to Area 51. Her expertise is advanced theoretical electronics. She's really hot about getting rid of power lines. The one in the brown sweater is Ruby, she's specializes in metallurgy. She figures that alloying naquadah the right way will produce super strong, lighter metals to produce armor for in-the-field guys like you. Plenty of clearance there."

Grudgingly I nodded in agreement.

"Besides, I think Ruby there is sweet on Mac," Cochran nudged the psychiatrist in the ribs causing him to cringe and flush floridly. That lightened my mood just a wee bit.

"So, why are we here Jack, and could you make it short and sweet. I don't want to leave the ladies without escorts too long," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Same ol' Isiah, always enamored of the ladies. It never mattered what the age, he just loves females, from infants to 100 plus in age; and ever the gentleman.

"Let me put it this way, I mulled over our conversation," I pulled an envelope from inside my light jacket and handed it to him, "The solution to the problem."

"Jack. Thanks. You won't regret this," he smiled broadly and pulled MacKenzie in for a one-armed hug.

Hmmm, maybe this is better. I certainly hadn't thought of anything half as bad as having Isiah as a friend, he could be very meddlesome. The idea appealed to me, I hoped he considered MacKenzie a very close friend. I downright grinned at the idea. Things were starting to look up.

Isaiah gave me a strange look.

"Hey, kid. Thanks for the help," and I held out my hand. We shook.

"I'm here for ya Jack, just holler. And... thanks," he waved the envelope as he turned and led MacKenzie to the ladies.

Daniel was standing there with a shell-shocked look on his face.

"You know each other."

"Yepper, Danny-boy, since he was twelve I believe," Daniel did a double take.

"And the envelope?"

"MacKenzie's absolution."

"I don't understand." Poor Daniel, he hasn't been paying much attention, but then I'd had him distracted for a couple of weeks now. Glad that's over.

"Let's just say MacKenzie has his orders and clean-up after this little party is assured."

Daniel's not slow, the light of understanding burned in his face almost immediately, the smile was worth that concession of clearing the little weasel's record. I smiled too.

"Daniel, I'm glad you're here. You can help me celebrate. Four more weeks and I'll be back on the roster."

"Jaaack! Janet said four weeks after the end of the month. There's two weeks left until then. I know for a fact that you can count."

Daniel perched on the seat of the picnic table next to me; I whacked him on the shoulder.

"You wanna bet?"

"Not on your life. The way Teal'c is pushing you through physio, it is a distinct possibility," Daniel laughed.

We shared a moment as laughter echoed down from where the ladies were being entertained by MacKenzie of all people. I'd have expected Isiah to be the life of the party. Maybe MacKenzie has changed. Naw, that's just too scary to contemplate. And as quickly as that my thoughts and eyes drifted to the tight knot around Eric.

Warmth I'd not felt for a long time filled my chest and lightened my heart.

"Jack..."

Daniel's hesitant voice drew me from pleasant thoughts; he just couldn't help himself sometimes. He could kill a mood faster than anyone I know, except me.

"What, Danny?"

"Is it over?"

I knew what he was asking, am I safe, is Eric safe, and at the same time was he safe.

"No, it isn't. And is. Both at the same time. Like with the Goa'uld. We survived to fight another day, and so did they. Stalemate."

"That sounds, well... defeatist."

"Sounds like, but isn't," I flipped the object that Eric had given me the night before into the air between us, if flashed in the warm sunlight. It reminded me of hope. "As long as any of us draws breath we are undefeated. Just call it a realistic outlook."

Daniel's eyes followed the object, on the next catch I flipped it to him and he neatly caught it. His eyes widened after only a cursory examination of it, just like I knew they would.

"Jack! Where did you get this?"

"PBX 123. Eric brought it back."

"It's in Ancient!"

"Yep, that's what I thought. Kinda puts all of this in prospective doesn't it, there's never a tidy solution when it comes to real life. But there is always a new mystery waiting in the wings."

**The End (sorta)**

Dedication: As always, my friend Dinkydow. She stood by me for all the time it took to finish this monster. Thanks, Donna.

Additonal Author's Notes: This has been a journey of discovery spanning three years. My ability and style of writing has changed over that time and it is evident within this story. It had been intended as a short sequel to my very first fic, but somehow it got out of hand and took on a life of its own; and from the ending, it has not quite ended, despite my best efforts. Perhaps there will be a sequel to the sequel. LOL I do hope you will please excuse the differences from beginning to end. I do intend to do a rewrite, but that will probably wait about a year.

I wish to formally thank everyone who fed my rather weak writing ego with their kind words of encouragement, those words got me through some very rough personal times and those long stretches that I couldn't bring myself to write. And I pray that I have given you something worth reading. Thank you.

This and all of my stories can be seen at Jackfic .com, Fanfiction .com or my own site: JoleneB .com.

Thank you.


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